This is It (The Apocalypse)
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: It's 2047 and Michael and Lucifer have lost track of their true vessels for decades. Angels and demons search in vain for the last true weapons of the Apocalypse, and the world is just collateral damage. One morning a group of hunters stumble across a house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and release something that could change everything. Now has a sequel: "Bless the Broken Road"
1. Chapter 1

Title: This is it (The Apocalypse)

Wordcount: Just over 7k. I think.

Summary: Outside!POV of Legendary!Powered!Boys.

It's 2047 and Michael and Lucifer have lost track of their true vessels for decades. Time is wearing thin for the hunters who continue the fight. Angels and demons search in vain for the last true weapons of the Apocalypse, and the world is just collateral damage.

One morning a group of hunters stumble across a house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and release something that could change everything.

* * *

**A/N** This is a gift for the lovely if-llamas-could-fly, who is an awesome friend and is another year older in a few days. I'm posting early so hopefully you won't mind.

I wrote this a while ago and it was 200 words. Today's it's over 7k. Gah. I had to get my Legendary!Boys fix somewhere. Thanks to LeeMarieJack and my beta for looking at the darn thing.

I hope everyone enjoys, and happy birthday llamas!

* * *

_**Before**_

December 3rd, 2020. _Three months after Lucifer loses last true vessel._

Aaron Walker shivered as the last zombie went down, pulling his machete out of the torn neck muscles with a disgustingly satisfying _squelch_. He tried not to think about whose neck it was. Better said than done.

The ground around him was littered with corpses. Black, congealed blood soaked into the dirt; the smell was enough to make him gag. He looked around the shambles of his yard and wondered how it'd ever come to this.

He turned to the strange man who'd shown up from nowhere and gave him a desperate look. The other man, about his age, Aaron thought dimly, was dressed from head to toe in flannel and leather. He looked like a hick.

A hick who'd just saved his life. From…

"Zombies…are fuckin' real." Aaron said, dazed. The other man just shook his head, grinning at Aaron around the blood and graying stubble on his cheeks.

"Lotta things're real. You just didn't know about them till now."

The man (he'd said _hunter, _whatever that meant) cast one last look around the burnt plains of the Midwest, slinging his machete across his back. He ignored the bloody smear on Aaron's kitchen window like it was commonplace. His wife's corpse was leaning against the glass, the pearls he'd bought for their anniversary strewn down the steps. They were like little teeth, covered in blood and dirt, he thought vaguely. Baby teeth.

"You coming?"

Aaron glanced back at the house he'd spent the last ten years of his life in and sighed. His fingers shook around the grip of the machete. He thought about the last half a week very hard for a second. And then he followed.

He stepped in guts on the way out. So it goes.

* * *

_**Now**_

March 10th, 2067. _Somewhere outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Four months after last defender of Camp Chitaqua falls. _

The trees whirred by as the van sped down the road, bumping occasionally as the tires hit uneven patches of dirt. Every jarring bump seemed to magnify the collective headache in the car, and no matter what Aaron's watch said, it was too early to even think about being conscious.

"I really love early mornings on the road, you know?" Suddenly a cheerful voice came from the backseat, interrupting his train of thought. Even mustering the energy to reply was debatable.

_Your whole life is a road trip. _Aaron sighed, rubbing morning stubble with his hand as he rolled over. "Shut up and go back to sleep. It isn't even four yet."

Dahlia gave him a hurt look before flipping blonde hair over one shoulder, sending him what was supposed to be a menacing glare. He could feel the burn of her eyes on his back even through the car seat between them.

Psychics. Jesus.

Mike sent him a cool look from the front of the van, blue eyes a shade darker in the rearview. The other man had had a hard time adjusting to Dahlia; for a long time, it'd just been the two of them out on the road together. Two older, slightly bitter bachelors. The psychic's cheerfulness, along with her sporadic abilities, made Dahlia less of an asset in Mike's mind, and the other man made no move to deny it.

Aaron sighed internally and stretched, locking eyes with Mike again. He'd been driving since Ohio, which was...hours, maybe days ago. The other man's eyes were bruised with a lack of sleep. Aaron was up for the next driving shift in…what time was it again?

He pressed even closer to the window and leaned his forehead against it, smudging the glass. He could hear Dahlia fidgeting in her seat. He swore the girl was on a timer or something. Soon enough she'd be asking them to pull over, legs jittering in her seat for another pee break.

"Aaron-"

He grunted once. Dahlia's fidgeting only increased. He heard Mike huff under his breath, irritated.

"It's..." she trailed off, picking now of all times to be reticent. "I-"

"What?"

Her eyes met his as he sat up, comically widened. He almost laughed at the expression on her face, but it probably wasn't wise to incite her ire.

"I think there's something up ahead."

The entire atmosphere changed in an instant. Aaron turned back to the window, hand finding the shotgun resting against his seat. Mike slowed accordingly and watched from the battered driver's seat, scanning the land around them.

In the east the sun was just barely risen, casting pink and blue hues across the gray, flat land around them. They'd barely seen vegetation in their last week and a half on the road, only burnt, black dirt.

(And zombies, Aaron reminded himself. Lots of zombies in the Midwest)

"I've got a house coming up on the left in a couple feet," Mike called up from the driver's seat, angling the rearview mirror so he was facing Aaron. "You want me to stop?"

Aaron turned to Dahlia, shotgun in hand. "That what you were sensing?"

She nodded, even paler than before.

"It's warded prettily heavily. I've never.." she cut off, swallowing dramatically. "—never seen anything like this before."

"Let's check it out." Mike nodded at the order, obviously resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Eventually they came up on the house, slowing to a stop a few hundred feet away from what looked like a junkyard at first glance. Aaron got out first, shotgun in hand as he surveyed the land. His boots crunched in the dirt.

The rusting skeletons of old cars were piled one on top of the other, what had once been meticulous piles thrown into disarray by the elements. The ground was tinged with a rusty-colored ash, a bitter scent in the air. A single house sat at the middle of the huge lot, seemingly untouched by everything except the elements.

"Supplies?"

Aaron shrugged as the other man came up behind his shoulder, sending the house a scrutinizing glance. "We've hit, what, three houses these last few days? No demons, not even a ghost, and now this." The zombies had been their only job, and that was hundreds of miles back. "No, something's off."

Mike frowned at the house. Aaron didn't miss the way he crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

"I agree with Aaron," Dahlia finally clambered out of the car, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground. Her eyes were still widened slightly. "There's nothing around here, not for hundreds of miles in either direction…until now. It's like a big, glaring target."

Her eyes flicked once towards the house, shifting steadily as if afraid to be caught looking. Mike sent Aaron a questioning look, hands tightening on his own shotgun.

"So, a vote?" He put his hand in. "All those in favor of doing some recon in the creepy ghost house, say 'aye.'"

Dahlia interrupted, looking slightly panicked. "Are you sure we should really be going in there?"

She tightened a hand around the knife at her hip, her only weapon. Mike tried to hide his amusement at the smaller blade with a cough. Aaron glared at him. They'd had this discussion before.

"We haven't had a real hunt in three weeks. If it turns out to be some super-charged hick, I'm taking it." Mike threw his hand forward, staring dubiously at Dahlia. In all honesty, the pair of them probably counted as hicks, but Aaron didn't voice that opinion. "This coming from the girl who single-handedly took out, what, three ghosts last month?"

"None of your business." Dahlia frowned at the insult, turning to Aaron. He shrugged.

"It doesn't hurt to go looking," Aaron glanced at the van behind them, running on little more than the gasoline they'd choked into it and the cigarette smell they couldn't air out of the seats. "We're pretty low on rock salt, and the battery on this piece of shit is almost dead."

A pause settled over the group. Heavy wind blanketed them for a few seconds, whipping across the dead grass and shriveled trees with the screeching tones of wood on dry wood.

"Unless you sense something…dangerous?"

"No, that's the weirdest part." Dahlia shook her head a few times, eyes growing hazy. "It's like there's nothing there at all. It's all blocked, like some big, blank spot. I don't like it."

"So…vote?"

"Aye."

"Aye."

"…Aye."

* * *

They converged on the house from three points, shotguns in hand and salt at the ready. Mike tucked the last of their holy water into his water bottle and wordlessly handed it to Aaron. They all carried rosaries and copies of the Old Exorcisms with them everywhere, but Aaron was the best-versed of the trio, so he took point.

Aaron hadn't grown up at the sides of hunters, but he'd learned in the years following Apocalypse. He'd started with Mike, practicing the trade until he was old enough to carve out on his own. Literally. Now he was an older man all the more bitter for his losses.

He reminisced briefly on the subject, as he did most hunts these days. Mike was seasoned enough-they'd hunted for years together. It'd been more than 20 years on the road with the other man, city to city. They barely had enough memories of _before _to reminisce anymore, and definitely less people to share them with. Few had been ready for the onslaught of supernatural and evil that stemmed from the Apocalypse. Few had been ready to believe that the devil, or even angels, were real.

Dahlia was a new addition neither of them were extremely comfortable with.

Having a psychic was almost an advantage any way a hunter looked at it. There were few bloodlines pure enough to produce any psychic talent anymore, especially in the Midwest. The remaining psychics had either died out or gone crazy in the last half-century: Some were driven mad by the near-constant visions of death, others hunted to extinction by demons and angels alike.

They were lucky enough that Dahlia was barely more than a half-breed; sensing and weak projecting only, not worth a good hunter's attention, but worth her salt. Even in situations like these.

Aaron muttered a small prayer under his breath as they moved forward, checking his shotgun one last time as his feet hit the rickety porch. Testing his weight on it with a bend of his knees, he pushed against the oddly intact door and into the house.

Mike shot him an 'all clear' sign from the back porch before he joined him in the house. Dahlia crept up behind them, knife at the ready.

The inside of the house was dusty, layered in shelves upon shelves of old, leather-bound books. A large desk held piles and piles of paper, stacked haphazardly, as if the owner was coming right back.

Aaron coughed once as he stumbled past a set of rickety chairs in what he guessed was the kitchen, Mike taking point on the other two rooms. Dirt covered every surface they walked on, a thick, untouched layer of grime layering the floor and walls. He could feel it seeping into his skin as he brushed past a wall.

Aaron gave Mike another signal, moving to press against the dark walls as he checked the next room. His eyes widened as he saw jars and what looked like metal, bunches of tools wrapped in the oily tatters of rags on a table. They could definitely use those later. Metal went far these days, especially iron. He shuddered at the thought of how much their shotguns had cost. What was in front of him could get them so much more. Jesus.

He searched the rest of the room, leaning down occasionally to peer at an item. How civilian looters hadn't touched the place yet astounded him. If he looked closely, he could even see the glint of jewelry in a box by the corner, untouched. A grimy mirror reflected light into the room, unbroken.

Aaron checked the room for any other useful supplies, making a note to come back to grab the tools and metal before they left. He cast his reflection a dubious look, turning away before his focus got away from him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked this old, covered in three days' worth of a beard and dust from the road.

Giving the sign for Mike to continue, he swung around to survey the kitchen once more as the other man started towards the second floor. He was about to follow when a gasp sounded behind him.

Dahlia stood in front of a door he'd passed by before, knife shining dully in her hand. Past her shoulders he could see dark stairs, leading down into a basement.

"Aaron."

"What is it?" He wasted no time moving to her side, shotgun once again at the ready. Her face was pinched, not scared. He'd come to recognize the girl's facial expressions; on a hunt, it was the difference between being alive and, well. _Not_. And, selfishly, he liked being alive.

"It's that feeling again," she exhaled quickly. "Like it's blank. That spot I was talking about before..."

"It centers here, huh?" Aaron pushed her aside, gingerly taking the first step into the basement. Dahlia murmured an assent above him as he descended, her shape blending into the shadows.

A window at the bottom of the stairs let in shuttered light, from the floor above. He inched slowly down the stairs, feeling every crack and irregular knob in the wood as his feet hit the steps.

"Aaron?"

He ignored her as the stairs opened into a large basement, centering on what looked like a larger, focused room. He squinted in the dim light, trying to see what was ahead of him.

"Aaron!"

The second his foot touched the ground, a fist of power slammed into his chest, sending him flying into a shelf ten feet away. Dahlia screamed, the echoes tapering off as Aaron's world spun around him.

His palms brushed broken glass and unidentifiable liquids on the floor below him, stinging like acid. His head throbbed once, dulling the pain he could feel in his ribs.

Aaron heard Mike's hurried steps and tried to warn him, holding a hand out just a second too late. The hurtling power sent him flying back again, though noticeably weaker. It crushed both of them against the wood of the stairs, unrelenting.

"the _fuck_-" the other man swore angrily, both of them struggling against the unseen power. Aaron tried to get his shotgun up, straining as an apparition appeared in front of them.

The spirit stood in the shadows from the window, older, gray features rippling in the low light. Aaron could just make out the man's face, its eyes a glaring warning from under an old, dirty ball cap.

His eyes landed on the shotgun protectively across his chest. The ghost was standing guard in front of the door he had glanced at before.

"Get _out_ of there," Dahlia was shouting from above them, panicked. Aaron's attention was again drawn back to the older man's figure, morbidly curious. Mike pulled at his arm, struggling next to him against the ghost's hold.

The ghost didn't say anything, not like most omens did. It didn't move, but its eyes flicked to the left briefly. Aaron followed his gaze, locking in on an upturned wheelchair in the corner. Dried blood coated buckshot holes in the chair's fabric, the ghost's eyes lingering just a second too long for it to be insignificant.

Aaron counted to three before yanking on the power holding his gun down, pushing up savagely. He managed to prop the barrel up on the table, slamming off a deafening shot at the center of the chair before the ghost forced the gun down again.

The second the shot collided the hold on their chests vanished. The ghost disappeared in a flash of light. Aaron barely caught himself as he and Mike slumped to the ground, the smell of ozone flooding the basement.

"He was guarding the room," Mike said breathlessly after a moment, stumbling up and over towards the door. "C'mon. We don't have much time until he gets back."

Aaron, incredulous, just stared at him. "You're insane. You want to go _into_ the room the ghost was protecting? Nice try. We're leaving."

"No," Mike said, eyes uncharacteristically wide. "I wanna know what he's hiding. C'mon Walker. Maybe it's more weapons."

Aaron glared at his insubordinate tone, anger curling up his spine. "I say we leave. That's an _order._"

"I agree with Aaron," Dahlia stumbled down next to them, face pale. She didn't look up from their faces, like she was scared of looking into the basement. "We need to get out of here. Something feels really, really wrong behind that door."

"You're just scared. Look, just get my back, okay?" Mike ignored her, shuffling painfully on a twisted left ankle towards the forbidden door. Always stubborn, Aaron mused distantly.

It looked like the room took up almost three fourths of the basement. A small grate hung on the door, covered by a metal slide. Mike was eyeing it carefully, lips shaping soundless words.

"Mike!" Aaron called, stumbling after him. A growing sense of wrongness seemed to overtake the basement. He had a sudden, very bad feeling about the door. "MIKE!"

The other man slid a hand towards the latch, ignoring him. He undid the lock, breaking apart years of rust and swinging the door open with a push.

A suffocating wind slammed into the basement, the smell of ozone growing painful in Aaron's nose. He stumbled backwards, thinking he heard laughter behind his ear, brief and distant. He saw Dahlia collapse and tried to move closer to Mike, slicing through the hot air. He grabbed for the other man's shoulder, desperate to leave _now_.

Mike shrugged off his hand with an inhuman strength, swinging the door open in one push. Coal-black eyes met his in a snarl, no whites visible. Demon, he processed sluggishly. Mike was a d-

The wind spilling from the room roared to a crescendo and darkness rushed forward. The oblivion was split in half as a pair of gold eyes flicked open, and Aaron felt distant amusement at the sight. It looked like wolf eyes, if he could compare it to anything. Bright, intelligent, and _angry._

A blinding light encompassed the room, casting him to his knees as everything went white, choking on the first words of the Rituale Romanum.

* * *

Waking up is more erratic than it is linear for Aaron; years of hunting and honing his instincts has him up and on his feet the second awareness floods back, regardless of the aching pain in his head. He swayed briefly, losing the drilled balance as smoke burns his eyes.

Aaron pushed a hand out to steady himself, surveying the room. The entire basement was blackened, the walls singed and smoking like a bomb had gone off. The smell of ozone was still present in the air, and there was something he should be doing right now, but he just can't focus-

He saw Dahlia collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, and tried to stumble towards the younger girl. Her head rested on the last stair and, at second glance, there might be blood there as well.

"Dahlia-" He choked on the word, smoke stinging his throat. "Where-"

A low coughing sounded behind him, ramping up in intensity. Instincts kicking in, Aaron crouched and turned around, fuzzily trying to remember where his gun had gone, his panic increasing as he found nothing. His hand groped for something to use, settling on a discarded iron rod at his feet.

The door the ghost had been guarding was blasted open, smoking at the hinges. A flashback hit Aaron suddenly, of a pair of glowing eyes and one so black it made him cringe.

Mike.

Mike was possessed. He had opened the stupid door. Mike—when had the man gotten possessed? Right before, or earlier? Aaron tried to think backwards, only to hit the brick wall of his ringing head.

"…Sammy?"

Aaron heard another man's voice, separated from the coughing by a breath. He startled, slipping a foot backwards.

"_Sam_."

Aaron positioned himself in front of the door, rod at the ready. No matter what came out of that room—demon or angel—he would protect Dahlia and himself. Maybe go down fighting…and, God, that had never occurred to him until now.

One figured pushed itself unceremoniously out of the smoke, dragging a body behind him. The man coughed around the acrid air, almost stumbling over his companion's form as he pulled them free from the room. He didn't seem to notice Aaron or Dahlia, wiping soot from his eyes. He was vaguely handsome, a dirty blonde 20-something, bent over in pain…shock? Too young, Aaron thought.

"Freeze!"

The blonde man spun at Aaron's shout, hand scrabbling at his back. He produced a long, silver blade and dropped into a fighting stance. The man bared his teeth like an animal, standing over his friend's body in a way that meant he'd rip into the first person that so much as went near them.

"Christo." Aaron said testily. The kid didn't so much as flinch, but his expression changed slightly. From where he was standing, the other man's eyes flashed a brilliant green, and that was supernatural enough. He pulled out his holy water and tossed the last of it on the pair, waiting for steam and cries that never came.

"You're hunters." The younger man coughed out around the water, sounding surprised as he wiped it from his face. He looked at them appraisingly, though his stance was still defensive. An exasperated smile cracked his face after a long, tense moment. "_Hunters_. Jesus."

Aaron didn't respond, nor did he think the situation was somehow funny. Even if he wasn't a demon, it didn't mean anything. The angels were tricky to catch these days—blending into the meager human population without a trace. The only way to catch them was to kill them (And at that point you had to be really, really sure).

Or he was a higher-level demon, which was even worse. Aaron had only seen one of those once, almost ten years ago. The white eyes hadn't left his nightmares since.

While they stood in stalemate, the body on the floor shifted slightly, letting out a low groan. The younger man knelt immediately, running his hands over the unconscious kid's face.

"Sammy? Tell me you're with me, buddy."

Aaron watched in amazement as 'Sammy' sat up, scrubbing a hand across his face. His eyes were shut, closed tightly, but the other man was even younger, a long-haired brunet with high cheekbones. The other man rubbed soothing circles into his companion's back, whispering quietly into his ear.

"De-?"

The blonde man smiled briefly, the whites of his teeth the only thing Aaron could make out in the darkness. "Yeah, it's me, little brother. You okay?"

"I can't—it's-" The brown-haired shivered, curling into himself. His eyes were still clenched shut. "It'a-There's-wrong with the—it didn't wear off!"

Well. Chalk that off as nonsensical and mildly disturbing.

Aaron sensed Dahlia waking up behind him and turned, finger to his lips. She nodded once, so the head wound probably wasn't that bad. They both watched in disbelief and fear as the blonde man nodded at the nonsensical babble, eagerly helping his companion (brother?) to his feet.

"There you go. There. Up we go."

Aaron held his rod out in front of him, skittish as the pair moved. They were both tall, and by the looks of it, muscular. The shorter man still held the long silver blade, and his eyes finally seemed to home in on them, still crouched near the stairs.

"Who the hell are you?"

Aaron bristled at his tone, moving to stand more in front of Dahlia. "That depends," he said coolly, negotiating face in place. "Who are you?"

Green eyes flashed once, startlingly bright. Definitely supernatural. "If I have to ask again, I'm going to be less friendly."

Aaron swallowed once as the blade in the other man's hand seemed to swell, lengthening and growing sharper.

"Who do you think you're talking to, boy?" He snarled at the kid, incensed yet secretly terrified. The blonde snorted sarcastically, flipping his knife to the other hand. Aaron backed up slightly, ready to counterattack, when he hit solid flesh.

Suddenly something grabbed his hair and twisted his head backwards, sharp enough to have him seeing stars.

Mike's face loomed above his head, the black-eyed bastard grinning through his partner's face.

"Hey, Aaron. How's it going?"

Aaron flung himself away and tripped backwards, crashing into another shelf as the demon laughed. He rolled to his feet swiftly, rod still clenched in his hand.

Mike—the demon—drove a kick into his ribs, drawing a pained grunt from Aaron. As he crumpled to his knees, he saw the green-eyed man in the corner of his eye, hand around his companion's wrist. The taller one was still muttering to himself, eyes clenched shut. When Mike took another step forward, however, they flew open.

Aaron gasped as gold eyes lit up the basement. Gold eyes—he remembered.

"Out." The kid said calmly, facing the demon. The hand at his side twitched.

"What was that, Sammy?" The demon asked sugar-sweet, facing the pair. It leaned in with one hand cupped around his ear. The demon knew the two—another count against them. "Little ole me?"

Suddenly the demon's smirk was gone and Mike screamed, crumpling in on himself. Pure agony wrote itself out on his face, though nobody had touched him. His veins stood out at his temples as his entire chest heaved.

"Out," _Sammy_ repeated, holding a hand in front of him. His eyes were a vicious gold, edging on yellow. The sudden intensity of the man—his face, especially—made even Aaron consider backing up. Pure power flooded through the basement floor, sparking where his fingertips and boots hit stone.

"You don't have enough juice," The demon was sneering even as it curled up in pain, coal-black eyes blending into the darkness around them. "You're sitting ducks, boys. Wait till our Father-"

The taller man cut him off, squeezing his fist. Mike choked desperately, holding his throat.

"Tell your father to go screw himself." The shorter man growled, placing a strengthening hand on _Sammy_'s shoulder. Both of their eyes began to glow even brighter, the smell of ozone cloying. Aaron swore quickly to himself that escaping was the one thing he was going to do when he could move. This was a power even hunters couldn't challenge.

Another terrible scream was wrenched from Mike, the echoes of it riding on the torrent of black smoke that forced its way from his mouth. Aaron ducked, shielding Dahlia as much as he could as oily smoke flew above their heads.

Mike crumpled to the ground a second later, landing solidly on the stone floor. No one moved to help him. The room went silent.

"...You alright?" The shorter man turned to his companion, both of their eyes fading back to normal. The taller man nodded, slumping into his partner's arms. He looked even younger, worn out and exhausted, hair curling over his face. The oldest of the pair gazed on over his companion's head, as if daring them to comment.

"Are you...angels?"

The green-eyed man seemed surprised to see them there. He blinked at Dahlia. "Excuse me?"

"You're not demons. And you're sure as hell not ghosts," Dahlia pushed forwards and nodded at the overturned wheelchair in the corner, stupidly brave. She crossed her arms. "So, what are you?"

The man considered this briefly, glancing at his near-unconscious partner, then shrugged.

"We're hunters. I can do a salt, silver, holy water test if you want later, sweetheart, but we've got other stuff to do."

Dahlia shook her head, stepping forward. "I've never seen hunters do that. Especially not to a demon." She cast a knowing look at the longer-haired man, and even Aaron had to admit he was curious. He saw a trail of blood running down the man's face, though the kid didn't seem to notice or care.

"Well, we've been around the block a few times." The green-eyed man said, smiling patronizing lay. The smoke was finally clearing enough for Aaron to see the sarcastic expression on his face. He didn't trust him one bit. "Speaking of. Y'all got the date?"

"March 10th."

"Year?"

"2047." Dahlia said, blinking. She'd always kept the watch for the group, a little ironman piece of plastic with a small calendar. "Why?"

"No reason." The man closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath. He turned to his companion after a moment, voice hushed. "Huh. That long?"

Aaron didn't like it, but he had to know. "What were you doing in that room?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

The green-eyed man's companion pulled himself up to a mind-boggling height. His eyes were a normal hazel now that he was fully conscious.

"What-"

The shaggy-haired man ignored him, turning to the other man, incredulous. "Did he really say it's '47?"

"Yeah." They both glanced back at the room, ignoring him and Dahlia. "We have to—Oh." He cut off as his eyes landed on something. "…shit."

Aaron immediately snapped to attention. "What?"

They both walked over to the corner with the wheelchair in it. The shorter man let his hand rest on the overturned wheel, a pained expression on his face.

"_Damn it_, Bobby."

The taller man shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. "Shit."

Aaron felt vaguely guilty for shooting the ball cap-wearing spirit for a moment, but only vaguely. He figured with Mike they were even. Mike...he turned around, trying to spot the other man.

"Who are you people?" Dahlia finally exploded, asking the obvious, obvious question. "Why were you hiding in there? Why were your eyes glowing? And why can't I read you?"

"Whoa, sweetheart." The shorter one said, grimacing. He shared a look with Aaron, like_ can you believe this broad?_ "Not all at once."

Dahlia merely glared at him, ignoring the patronizing tone. "I'm serious. I can't read either of you. If you're not angels, then what are you?"

The blonde man waved a hand, smirking. "These are not the droids you're-"

"_Hunters_," The taller man repeated, interrupting the blonde man. He seemed to be the more diplomatic of the pair. His expression turned to one of hurt when Aaron raised his iron rod. "Just like you guys, right?" He held out his hands. "Look, my name's Sam. This is my brother-"

The brother gave a cheery, sarcastic wave, interrupting. "Howdy."

The two seemed familiar, but he couldn't immediately place them. Aaron narrowed his eyes. "Explain the room."

Sam looked briefly at the open door. "It's warded. For protection. It was supposed to last a lot longer, but…"

Aaron noticed his eyes move to Mike's unconscious form on the floor. "But?"

"Your buddy over there ruined it," the still-unnamed green-eyed man cut in sharply from behind his brother. "Talk about being hunters, man, y'all should know when a demon's riding shotgun. Come on!"

"What were you hiding from?" Dahlia questioned after a second, avoiding looking at Mike's body. "A demon?"

Sam shook his head, endearingly young as his hair flopped across his forehead. Aaron could barely connect it to the display of power he'd seen moments before. It looked more…_childish_ than anything else. "Much more powerful."

"So what, you've been hiding out there for, what, a couple of weeks? Months?"

"Try years," the blonde man smiled wide, though it was really more of a grimace. "And now it's time to move again. Good times, this apocalypse. C'mon, Sam. Wave buh-bye."

Dahlia frowned as he turned to leave, putting a hand out. "That room has two beds in it, and that's it. You're telling me you just stayed in there for a few years? There's no working cars outside. This doesn't make sense. At all."

The man shrugged, which seemed to be his _modus_ _operandi_. "Is the apocalypse still on?'

"What do you mean, 'on'? It's always on." Dahlia narrowed her eyes. "Always been on. Never seems to end."

"Huh." Was all the kid said. The angel blade was still in his hand, glowing softly in the light. His shirt shifted, revealing an inked line running up his arm. It was some sort of tattooed symbol. "Well, time for us to get going. Nice to meet you guys-"

"Wait a second." Dahlia cut in, stepping in front of the taller man. "Not so quick. That's a containment spell on your arm. I recognize it from one of the old books."

The temperature in the room dropped noticeably. Dahlia drew in a shocked breath as the man's expression hardened, the smell of ozone again overtaking the room.

"So the girl's book-smart," the blonde man laughed lightly after a second, poking Sam. He subtly shifted his body in front of his brother's, and Aaron reminded himself that this was the second time they'd prevented the pair from leaving, which was probably a very, very bad idea. "You two should get together, Sammy. Maybe some other time though."

Dahlia pushed her way forward, grabbing Sam's arm in a choppy move. Aaron cursed, hand again scrabbling for a gun that wasn't there. The damn girl had to go and piss off the most powerful things they'd ever met-

The green-eyed man growled in warning as Dahlia grabbed Sam's arm, pushing the taller man's sleeve up. Inked there on his skin was the same symbol, Aramaic wrapping up and around his forearm. A shiver ran through the room.

"No one wards with containment spells anymore," Dahlia affirmed, staring up in wonder at them. "Not when they're warding people. In fact, I've never seen warding used like this before. This was a _bronochim_, an ancient sleeping spell."

The green-eyed man raised both eyebrows, anger just barely visible in the lines of his face. The room had dropped another ten degrees, however. "Cool word, sweetheart." He jerked Sam's arm out of her hands. "No touching."

"How long were you asleep?"

"Lady-"

Dahlia layered her voice with just the slightest push, psychic powers finally coming in handy, though it took all of her strength and usually wasn't worth the nosebleed. "How _long_?"

The man went wide-eyed in anger, a vivid green hinting in the color his irises. He bared his teeth, features twisting into a snarl. "_Back off_."

Dahlia cried out and stumbled backwards, clutching her head. Blood ran from her nose in spurts as she stifled another cry. Sam shifted, a look of disapproval on his face as he glanced at his brother, though he did nothing to intervene.

"The demon in Mike—it knew who you were." Dahlia said after a moment of gasping. She was still holding her head. "He was going to go tell someone about you."

Aaron turned to them, slowly putting the pieces together. "He was going to tell them that you woke up. But why? Why is that important?"

"It's really not," The man said, grabbing Sam's arm. "We're leaving. Touch him again and it'll be worse, alright? C'mon Sam."

"Dean-"

Aaron's mind rolled over the two names again, and he drew a sharp breath in.

Sam and the blonde took the stairs fairly quickly. They were already halfway up the stairs when he called out.

"Sam and Dean…Sam and Dean _Winchester_?"

The boots on the stair froze, and Aaron could see the green-eyed man's hand clench on the wood.

"…How do you know that name?"

He heard Dahlia gasp behind him, and couldn't believe they hadn't put it together sooner. But—that would have meant-

"You're…famous." Aaron said quietly, barely able to believe it himself. "The Winchester gospel-You're supposed to be _dead_." Taking out Michael and Lucifer, story told. They hadn't been successful—more of a legend, really.

He could almost see the statue in front of the old Roadhouse in his eyes now, cut from rough marble, the last tribute to the pair that tried their hardest to stop the Apocalypse. (The artist's rendition of Sam's taller form, a rifle slung over one stone shoulder. Dean, a wary presence at his back, eyes cutting through anyone brave enough to stare him down)

He'd never believed the legends; better left to the drunks at the back of the roadhouse who still believed, somehow, that Lucifer would just go away. Or Michael would change his mind. Somehow, someway.

Aaron looked on in wonder at the pair standing in front of him. Barely anyone used the first names anymore, and the gospel clippings they had saved never mentioned them. They were well and truly on their way to becoming pure legend.

His words seemed to have an effect on Dean—the blonde-because the other man's face twisted slightly. Suddenly he jerked Sam upwards, dragging him towards the door with a bitter look on his face.

He and Dahlia followed them upstairs as the two men-boys, really-walked into the junkyard.

"You can't just leave!" Dahlia cried out. "_Please_. You have to help us."

Dean ignored her, moving towards a shed in the corner of the lot and smashing the master lock with the butt of his knife. Sam went the opposite way, disappearing behind a low-hanging wall. The two of them were perfectly coordinated, like this had been a plan long in the making.

Aaron watched in disbelief as two packs of supplies were gathered. Sam motioned Dean back to where he'd disappeared. Aaron caught a glimpse of a dark, rusty car before Dean's hands passed over it. An engine rumbled to life a few seconds later. The pair was packing when Aaron turned around the corner, losing the breath he'd had in his chest.

In front of him was a shiny black car, and not a scratch on it. It was an old, beyond-ancient Chevy, but Aaron hadn't seen a better looking car in…decades. He stared in wonder as the two boys packed it up, dizzy with disbelief. Behind him, Dahlia was still pleading naïvely with the two.

"-you're the _Winchesters_. The demons won't know what hit them! Fight with us. Please."

Dean (Could it be _the_ Dean? Could it really?) took off two seconds from packing to send her another glare.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but whoever you think we are, we can't help you."

"But—"

"_Leave it_."

Aaron stared as the words silenced Dahlia, the girl taking a step back, hurt. Sam patted Dean on the back and the man sighed. They finished the packing silently, gathering cans and boxes from obviously placed sections in the old house. It was almost like they'd…planned this.

His mind was whirling at thousand words a minute, but he couldn't move his feet from where they were to save his life. They had been hiding in that basement for a reason, and it had something to do with what that demon had been saying. His curiosity almost overtook his concern for Mike, as it obviously had earlier. They'd left his body curled up on the floor, and neither he nor Dahlia had checked for a pulse. It was a poor service to the hunter, but that was the life.

"The demon mentioned his father," He blurted out, taking a step forward suddenly. Sam spun, a silver knife appearing in his hand as he moved closer. Dean's blade flicked into being, and he joined his brother on the side of the car.

"Listen, gramps-" Dean began, and now his frustration was clear to read. "I'm really sorry we busted up your little shindig, but-"

"No, you listen to _me, _boy," Aaron said, pointing a finger. "You've been sleeping in there for god knows how long, and you're about to step into hostile demon territory for the first time. You haven't done any research and you're not carrying anything beyond a knife. Is that what a real hunter would do? Huh?"

He waited to get his head blown off like Dahlia's almost had been, but nothing happened.

"What we do, sorry to inform you," Dean bit out after a second, teeth clenched, "Does _not _concern you."

Aaron ignored him, turning to Sam. The other man had remained quiet, but he saw the intelligence hiding in the other man's eyes. He had a knowing look in his eyes. "The demon. He was talking about his father. The father of all demons. That's Lucifer."

He noticed the tiny flinch as the other man nodded, brown eyes impassive beyond that small tell. "Yes. You're correct."

"So Luc—_he _is going to be looking for you. Because you're the vessel. And Michael, he'll be looking for his vessel now too."

Dean was the one who gave the noticeable reaction this time, grabbing Sam's shoulder and turning him away. "Sam-"

"No, I'm not finished." Aaron threw a boot in front of the car's front tire, praying they wouldn't run his foot over. "That's the whole reason this apocalypse is the way it is, isn't it? How long it's been going on for? You were gone—we thought you were dead!"

The story had gone they'd died trying to take the angels out, Lucifer in tow. They'd died heroes, legend told. Nobody had seen them since, but Lucifer and Michael were definitely still around. But if it had been going on _because _they hadn't been there—well, that was a whole different story.

"I'm sorry." Sam said simply, jacket still clenched in his brother's hand. He looked straight at Aaron, looking beyond tired. "We're sorry. This is…the way it had to be."

"So you hid away. That's what the sleeping spell was for—so they wouldn't find you?"

"_I can't believe I'm getting ribbed about this by some nobody hunter_," Dean looked away as he grumbled under his breath. "So they couldn't _use_ us, dumbass."

…Oh.

"And now you've ruined it," the green-eyed man continued after a moment, turning back to face Aaron. He stepped forward, the smell of ozone returning. "That spell was supposed to last _centuries. _Long enough for the two big bads to fall apart without their chess pieces. But no, you didn't think that _through_ when you went barging into the most protected house in the entire continental-"

Dean's shouting suddenly cut off as the other man fell silent. A shocked look formed on his face. He turned to his brother. Sam tilted his head slightly, like the angels did. Everything went utterly silent, save for the wind whistling through the rusted cars.

"We need to leave. Now." Dean sprung into motion. A low buzzing noise settled over the junkyard, and even Aaron knew what it meant. Dean threw another knife to Sam, who caught it deftly. They leapt into the car just as the telltale angel light flickered above them, a sharp blue.

Aaron swore and turned to Dahlia. He found her crumpled in the dirt and swore even more harshly as he saw her eyes glow a feverish blue, choking on a presence. The angels were breaking rules again with the possessions. But not to Dahlia- _damnit_. Psychics.

He turned and caught Sam's eyes through the window of the Chevy. The other man stared balefully at the scene outside, calm while his brother was shouting his head off in the seat next to him. Sam held his gaze for a second longer, and then the back door to the Chevy swung open untouched.

"Get in."

Aaron swung into the car just as the first angel appeared behind him, closing the door in time to block a silver blade. Dean swore and stamped on the gas, sending the car hurtling onto the road.

* * *

A/N Leave a comment, and let me know what you thought! More to come soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** Another chapter! Thanks for all the follows and comments guys! Happy Birthday again to the lovely if-llamas-could-fly!

* * *

Aaron slid along the leather seats as the car sped away, managing to stabilize himself against the window while Dean Winchester gunned the accelerator. The angel's blade had missed his body by a few inches, and from what he could tell, had taken out a decent chunk from the Chevy's side panel.

Even as the threat of angels faded in the distance, even as the slow realization that Dahlia and Mike were most likely dead dawned upon him, Aaron was calm. The black car sped along the countryside, and for what had been a terrifically bumpy road before was now smoother than fresh asphalt.

He pretended for a moment he was in his old car, back in high school over thirty years ago. It had been a Chevy too, all piled leather seats and a sleek body. It had been a red two-door, nothing too expensive. But special, somehow.

Aaron got the impression that this car was special too, from the way it handled the excuse for a road they were currently roaring down-Or the fact that it shouldn't have any gas after years in that scrapyard, which was a conundrum in itself. Aaron peeked over the row seat at the dashboard and confirmed his suspicions with a glance. The needle on the gas gauge was firmly pointed at _empty_, though they'd already done at least ten miles.

"Sam. You good?" Dean's voice broke the silence in the car, terse and low. Aaron resisted the urge to hide behind his seat as some of the man's anger seemed to vibrate through the whole car. The instinct passed after a second and Sam nodded, solemn.

The kid was still gazing out the window, looking back forlornly at the scrapyard. Eventually he turned back to Aaron, a question in his eyes.

Dean continued to ignore his presence in favor of taking the old highway at close to 100 mph. Aaron nodded cautiously, locking gazes again with the other man, though unsure of what he was agreeing to. He half-expected the other man's eyes to flare gold again, but was happily disappointed with hazel.

Aaron slowly got the impression that he was only alive because Sam had wanted him to be-or because he'd taken pity on him. Regardless, they were all literally in this together, and it seemed like it was going to stay that way.

"So...where to?" He ventured after a long moment, meeting Dean's eyes by accident in the rearview. The other man glared at him and pursed his lips.

Maybe he was mad about the knife gash in his car, Aaron thought. It was a sweet car.

"We were thinking you might tell us " Sam said before his brother could, turning in his seat. The earlier magnetism was gone, and now he fixed Aaron with a very businesslike glance. "Where's the closest survivor camp? Chitaqua?"

"Chitaqua fell almost a week ago," Aaron frowned briefly. "How would you know about that?"

"Just a guess." That wasn't really an answer, but Aaron wasn't going to push it. "Do you know any other ones nearby?"

"Well, there's a couple south from here, along the river. Daley and Pichard north'a there. But everything else west of here is barren. Infected, too."

"Infected?" Sam asked. Even Dean looked mildly curious in the mirror, which was a new facial expression for the man. "With what?"

"Zombies, mostly." Aaron grunted at the irony. The boys had been gone for too long, it seemed. Everyone knew about the undead at this point. "The angels used them at the beginning. Thought it would help with consent issues if they didn't have to ask for permission."

Dean snorted and turned back to the road, hands tapping the wheel. "Doesn't seem to be a problem for them now."

Aaron thought back to Dahlia's body, lying in the dust. Choking on a damn angel trying to rip inside her. They always went for the psychics, but damn, it was a bad way to go. He'd heard someone describe it once; it was like possession but a million times worse. Like having a thousand suns inside you. He saw Sam flinch again like he knew what he was thinking, but said nothing.

"So we'll stop at the closest camp, supply up and head on our way." Sam said after a moment. He nodded at Aaron. "We'll drop you off at the camp, if that's okay with you."

"He doesn't really get a say, Sam." Dean said humorlessly tapping the wheel. He caught Aaron's gaze and shook his head slightly, as if to say _back_ _off._ "We'll drop him off at the next stop."

Silence fell in the small cabin. Aaron stretched his legs out as far as they would go, taking inventory. He had one knife in his boot, the gun in his hand and however much holy water was left in the canister in his back pocket.

He was also sitting next to two of the most famous war heroes of the apocalypse, who seemed to have no concept of their fame or much care for it.

The ride passed in a stalemate of silence. Dean tapped song after song across the steering wheel, to a beat only he could hear. Sam kept his head down, unable or unwilling to interfere with Dean's fiery glares that caught Aaron by surprise every mile or two.

They stopped once to eat, and Aaron received a pack of jerky and a lukewarm beer for his troubles. He gobbled it down in a heartbeat, savoring the taste of alcohol on his tongue for the first time in a long while. Dean ate with a gun in hand, always a step away from his brother. He ate between Sam and Aaron, which told him in fairly easy terms what the other man thought of him. Sam just looked tired, which summed up Aaron's day perfectly.

They reached the land near Bartlett in a few hours. It had taken Aaron and Mike almost a day and a half of on and off driving the last time they had swung by the camp. They had picked up supplies there on the way out by Sioux Falls, which had been almost a week ago by now. The camp had been doing well from what he had seen, and the birth rate was up. They were on the river, which made hunting and gathering that much easier.

He wondered vaguely if the Winchesters would really make good on their promise to drop him off at the camp, and began planning an escape just in case, not that his chances were any good. If it had been the other way around, Aaron would have been killed already. He'd already threatened Sam, which was a big no-no. The demon in Mike had escaped and most likely blown their cover. For all intents and purposes, Aaron had just ruined their entire plan.

They stopped briefly for a bathroom break somewhere in Missouri, half an hour away from Bartlett. Sam took watch by the car as Dean stumbled out into the woods. He told Sam to _play nice _and glared at Aaron again before hurrying off.

It was sort of incredible that these mysterious figures had to do things like take a leak, but Aaron supposed they were…mostly human.

"So…" Aaron said eventually, unable to keep quiet. The night was unnaturally silent around them, the stars even brighter and more alien than before. Sam was a shadow against the car, stretching even taller in the darkness. "Thank you. For saving me, I mean."

Sam shrugged, or at least that's what Aaron thought the movement was. "It was the right thing to do."

"…Your brother doesn't seem to think so."

"Dean's an impatient man." Sam said quietly, turning away. "He's a good one though. Don't worry about him."

Aaron grunted, looking around the car. "I wasn't."

"Now who's lying?" He saw Sam's teeth glint in the moonlight and realized the other man was smiling. He had so many questions to ask, but the words dried up on his tongue. What did you ask the man who had housed Lucifer? The brothers who had taken tag team turns in hell?

They sat there for a few more minutes. Sam didn't seem to be concerned that his brother wasn't back yet, leaning back against the Chevy. He had no visible weapons, looking like he could care less. Aaron, on the other hand, was on high alert. He held his gun in one clenched fist, voice casual as he scanned the surrounding forest for movement. They were still in zombie territory, after all.

"Shit. _Sam_!"

Sam startled at the sound of his brother's voice. His eyes flashed gold and the kid was gone a second later, booking it towards the line of trees. Aaron swore and followed, checking his gun for ammo even as he sprinted after the other man.

"Dean! _Dean_!" Aaron winced internally as the two continued to shout at each other, wondering how many zombies they were attracting with the noise. There were probably hundreds of them lying dormant out here in the forest, just waiting for an ankle to grab.

Sam seemed to know exactly where to run, though, following Dean's voice and stepping deftly on open patches of forest floor. His eyes were still a startling yellow, and the sight made Aaron shiver as the other man's profile caught the moonlight periodically.

They stumbled into a small clearing after a second and Aaron froze, grabbing Sam's shirt instinctively to prevent the other man from running forward. Dean was in the center of a small army of zombies, almost a hundred of them bracketing him in. His hands were stretched outwards, straining to keep them all back with some sort of power. The closest ones were breaking through, though, pale slimy hands grabbing and clawing at the man's face and arms.

"Dean!"

The blonde man spotted them above the clearing and visibly sagged. He kicked one of the zombies in the chest, causing the whole cavity to sink in. His eyes were a fiery green, but nothing seemed to be happening.

"A little _help_, Sam!"

Aaron watched as the other man immediately closed his eyes, face relaxing. His fists clenched at his sides, and a second later a shock wave of power poured from his body. A burst of light exploded from each zombie's head, and they collapsed _en_ _masse_ to the ground like dominoes.

It happened in a split second, even though there had been dozens and dozens of zombies and would have taken Aaron and six strong men almost half a day to completely wipe them all out. The Winchesters seemed to do everything a little faster than usual, though. The zombies were motionless on the forest floor, for all intents and purposes dead to the world.

Sam relaxed next to him and opened his eyes. They were still an eerie gold, but Aaron could see the worry behind them. They both looked down the clearing at Dean, waiting.

Dean kicked a fallen zombie off of him and cursed, then kicked it again for good measure. He walked swiftly to Sam, boots crunching on various zombie bits as he made his way up the hill. Aaron turned to look at the other man and found the kid holding his nose suddenly. Another nosebleed? He wouldn't be surprised, with that amount of power being expended. But killing zombies without a headshot…well, that was unheard of.

"Sam," Dean ran forward, hands running down Sam's arms and checking for wounds. Considering the other man had been the only one caught by the zombies, Aaron was mildly amused by his paranoia. "Shit. Zombies, man."

"What were you doing, hollering while you were pissing?" it seemed Sam had noticed their noise levels too. "Dean, there's gotta be a gazillion of them out here, You know better."

"Psh. No. They came out of nowhere." Dean scrunched up his face and turned away from his brother, losing the concerned look in favor for peeved sibling. He punched Sam in the shoulder. "What freaking use are defensive powers when I can't even defend myself?"

Sam laughed at that, but the sound was edged by something else. Maybe it was an old joke. They soon quieted and looked over at Aaron, as if realizing he was still there. Dean tensed visibly, stepping closer to his brother.

"You had a gun, Dean," Sam pointed out, breaking the silence with a chuckle. "You could've shot a couple."

"That would have just attracted more, dumbass." The blonde hit his brother in the shoulder again, turning to face the forest. "I might be stupid, but I wasn't born yesterday. Besides, how many freakin' things of these are there?"

Aaron realized a few seconds late that the question was directed at him. "Uh, close to a couple million. Around here I'd say a few hundred."

Sam gestured and they started walking back to the car. Dean just shook his head, looking up at the stars like Aaron had been a few minutes earlier. He looked down and shook his head, eyes dark.

Aaron waited for one of them to say something profound or inspiring, but neither said a word. It was a stupid thought, so he threw it out and kept walking.

* * *

They got back in the car and drove the remaining half hour to Bartlett in silence. Dean's pants were covered in blood where he'd touched the zombie corpses and it stunk. Sam's nosebleed seemed to have stopped a mile or two back, but Aaron couldn't tell for sure.

The gate to the camp looked the same as it did less than a week ago. There were two or three sentries at the towers, machine guns at the ready. Aaron swallowed as they were waved into the first partition by the guard. It was a little late to take point on this. Oh well.

Sam winced as they crossed the divide and grabbed his head, eyes flashing yellow before he shut them quickly. Dean growled under his breath and kept driving, both he and Aaron watching him carefully. After a moment Sam sat back and shook his head.

"Wards."

Dean narrowed his eyes but continued to pull up to the camp's main gate. The electrified fence stopped them about a hundred feet from the actual camp, and there was a good thirteen feet of barbed wire above it.

"Freeze!"

A gun was pressed to the back of Sam's head through the open window. Aaron turned and found Dean in the same position. Another gun cocked behind him, and he felt the cool metal against his neck.

"Take your hands off my brother." Dean's eyes were getting brighter, and all Aaron could think was _please not now, not now_. The car began to shake slightly. "_Now_."

* * *

**A/N** More soon! Leave me a comment, and let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Another chapter! You guys, I'm so excited. Minor warnings for gore and (a little) violence below. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The car continued to shake and Aaron saw the guard's eyes widen minutely. He made a split second decision and threw a hand forward, waving it near the man's face.

He'd seen the kid a few times, though not during the last stop they'd made at the camp.

What was his name? Dave—Danny. David? _David. _

"Hey. Hey! David! It's Aaron. Aaron Walker."

David's gun didn't move from Dean's neck, but the other man looked towards the sound of Aaron's voice. Recognition spread across his face and the gun dropped.

"Aaron." He waved off the other guards, a smile glinting in the darkness. "Friends of yours?"

The car stopped trembling once the gun on Sam was removed. Dean broke into a sunny, strained smile and put a hand out. His eyes were closer to a normal green now, and Aaron breathed a preemptive sigh of relief.

"Dan. This's m'brother Sean. We were traveling out east and ran into Aaron here. Hopin' to trade for supplies, if you'll have us."

Aaron nodded, watching David tentatively shake the hunter's hand. The guard shrugged, stepping back from the car. He gave Sam a quick look, then shook his head.

"My mistake, man. Looked like there was something up with the wards when y'all drove through. Must've been the light." The guard chuckled. "Why don't y'come on in?"

Sam let out a loud breath as the gates opened, some sort of tension leaving his shoulders. Aaron had no difficulty guessing who was interfering with the wards—not like the poor kid seemed to be doing it on purpose.

David led them into the compound and directed Dean—_Dan_—to the small gravel lot they'd set aside for cars. The second Aaron was out the guard was by his side, furiously pumping his hand, grinning like a madman. Aaron vaguely remembered playing with the kid decades ago in between hunts and wondered when he'd grown up.

"Aaron. Good to see you. And Mike…?"

Aaron grimaced. "Didn't make it. We ran into a pack outside a' Sioux Falls. Took Dahlia out too."

It was close enough to the truth, though Aaron had no clue if Dahlia was still alive or not. David seemed to take the news hard, head tipping towards the grass. He heard Sam and Dean awkwardly shuffle around behind him and gestured at them.

"Dan and Sean here, they saved me. Kicked a couple skulls in." He nodded at the two, directing his words to the other guards and camp members gathering. "They were looking for supplies when we ran into them. I was hoping maybe they could trade here."

And Aaron himself could find his sea legs, and maybe another crew to run with. Then again, he was getting old. He wasn't the young man he'd used to be, ready to roar out onto the road with a six-pack and a couple of shotguns. Maybe staying here was a better option after all. He made a note to ask David about it privately.

"Of course!" David said, turning to face Sam and Dean with a smile. "We have the canteen open. Don't have any shotguns in right now, if that's what you're looking for. You'll have to wait for the shipment next week."

"Nah. We're fine." Dean said, casually taking in the camp. He trailed off, a frown on his face.

Sam stomped on his foot unsubtly, directing his attention back to the kid.

"Ehm." Dean put his hands in his pockets, creasing the legitimate leather there and undoubtedly making a few hunters envious. "But we're looking for food and water, um, if you have it. And ammunition."

"Damn straight," David exclaimed, smiling at Dean. Aaron could already see the hero-worship building in the younger man and cringed. "If you'll just follow me, we'll get you set up. This way…"

Aaron made to move with them and was stopped by another guard with a light push. "Aaron, how's the road been? You look shitty."

Another hunter chimed in. "Come have a beer. On me this time, I swear."

"Hey Aaron, you said Mike's dead?"

A disbelieving grunt. "_Mike_ finally kicked it?"

"Damn."

"Him n'Dahlia. Zombies, he said."

"_Damn_," a guard grabbed his shoulder, pulling him towards the moonshine barn. "Someone get this man a drink. We're toasting Mike's memory tonight, ya hear?"

Aaron was pulled away by the mob of well-wishers, catching just a glimpse of Sam and Dean as they were led away. He supposed their end of the bargain was fulfilled—drop him off at Bartlett, secure them provisions—but something felt unfulfilled. He shook his head and took the first bottle of moonshine that was thrust into his hands.

"To _Mike_!" Someone yelled. He took a long swig and finished off the bottle, pushing it into the air with a hoarse shout.

The night swam around him. He frowned and tried to look at the bottle, but the label swam in and out of focus. His body loosened, teetering suddenly, and he pitched towards the dirt, thinking sluggishly how something was very,_ very _wrong.

* * *

Sam let Dean take point as they followed the young, eager-looking guard towards a dilapidated shed. The boards around it were weathered to the point of falling apart, and the small plot of land it took up only added to its charm. Aaron had been dragged off by a group of hunters, as they'd seen, and it looked like those gathered there were going to hold some sort of hunter's funeral. Sam had tried to catch the older man's eye one last time but failed. Unwilling to use his powers with all the wards humming around him, he had let the other man be led away.

Dean seemed to, as usual, care less. He was energized and restless, pushing against the guard—David?—when the man's pace fell below the appropriate speed. His eyes were just a notch above their normal shade of green, but there was nothing they could do about that. Sam shuddered internally as he thought about what his own eyes looked like currently, cursing Yellow Eyes again and again for his birthright. Something with the wards here was funky, and it jarred Sam's nerves.

"Here y'are," David opened the shed's door, his smile alarmingly bright in the darkness. "If you just step in here, I'll get Harvelle in-"

_Harvelle? _Sam mused distantly, wondering about the connection. Dean shrugged and sent him a quick glance, ducking below the doorjamb and into the building. Sam followed, eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness.

The door slammed suddenly behind him, and all of his hunter's instincts immediately flared into life. He felt Dean's pulse quicken in the air's vibrations and backed up, trying to find a wall.

"David?" He called, hoping it was just a minor mistake. "You got a light?"

The other man grunted. "Sure. Just a second, Sam."

Dean's hand clamped down on his shoulder, panicked.

"I didn't give him our names!" He hissed.

The temperature plummeted. Sam stiffened, remembering the last person who'd used _cold _as a weapon. Dean was a warm body behind him, chest heaving. They had their knives out, but the darkness was pervasive. Unnatural.

"Oh, Sam. Did you really think it was going to be that easy?"

Thank God, thank God. It wasn't _him_. Just something else. Anything else.

A shockwave went through the entire room and Sam cried out, feeling the wards amplify his pain as his powers lashed out violently. Dean let out a shout above him but he was already falling, curling on the ground and thinking _let it stop, please, the pain, _and pushing it out to Dean by accident, begging him to_ stop it, stop it stop it stop it stop it—_

Something hard connected with his head and everything went blessedly silent.

* * *

Aaron woke up sluggishly, his head swimming as it tried to circumvent whatever cocktail he'd been given. He took a second and mused on the phrase _cocktail. _It was apt, considering he'd downed one of the best jugs of moonshine he'd seen in a decade before the drug had kicked in.

He was in a shed-like room when he opened his eyes, covered in sawdust and wood chips. The morning sun was just beginning to hint at the small, cracked window. It's been at least a couple of hours, which meant...it meant something bad had happened. Had Sam and Dean escaped? Aaron could only hope so. But for hunters to turn on their own kind...

"I know what you're thinking," David's voice came from behind the chair he was tied to, startling him. He swung around in front of Aaron, batting a pretty pair of black eyes at him. His stomach plummeted.

"What's a handsome, intelligent, mighty demon like me doing with hunter refuse like you? _Again_?"

Aaron took a deep breath through his nose at the sight of David's eyes, swallowing lightly. So it was the same demon who'd gotten Mike. Fate had a way of screwing him over yet again. He stuttered out a laugh.

"I was actually wondering why I'm chained to a chair, but that was a close second."

"Ooooh. Touchy." The demon put an affronted hand to David's chest. "I had a feeling that moonshine would give you a kicker of a hangover. Not like any of you hunters have gotten drunk in a while."

"Oh I get drunk all the time." Aaron bit out. "When I'm banging your mother."

The demon snorted, crossing its arms. "Cheeky, aren't we? Well, if you want to ignore the foreplay, that's fine with me." It unsheathed a blade from David's belt, holding it in front of him so Aaron could see it easily. "You brought guests with you into camp."

Aaron said nothing. The demon raised an eyebrow and twisted David's face up into a leer.

"Something got your tongue, honey?"

Before Aaron could answer the knife slammed down into his leg, fearing into the flesh and tendons just above his knee. Aaron_screamed, _unable to comprehend how much pain was clawing through his leg. The demon removed the knife slowly, the sucking sound of flesh sliding around the blade making Aaron's stomach roll.

"Let's try this again. The Winchesters came with you into Bartlett. True?"

When he didn't reply the blade tore into the same spot on his other leg. He bit down on his tongue this time, refusing to scream. Aaron felt hot blood course down his throat and briefly wondered if he'd bitten through.

"Again. True or false?" The demon smirked. "I'll take a nod, for chrissakes."

Aaron steeled himself and. bared his teeth, shivering around the nauseating pain. "Bite me."

"Sure." The demon said easily, running a hand down his shoulder. "Later, though. We're making progress here. You traveled with the Winchesters. I wanna know what they were talking about. What their plans are. Who they're talking to."

If he was asking Aaron, it meant they didn't have their hands on the two boys. At the very least, that lightened Aaron's conscience.

* * *

**_Previously_**

Sam went down screaming and all Dean could feel was an innate sense of horror as the wards seemed to vibrate around him. His brother's eyes were a blinding yellow between his hands as Sam grabbed at his face. His powers and pain pushed out at Dean, and with a horrified apology he kicked Sam in the head, knocking him out.

The shaking stopped and a second later Sam relaxed, slumping quietly to the floor. Dean grabbed the second knife and faced the voice in the corner.

A disapproving sound came from where David had been. "That's wasn't nice."

"Fuck you." Dean said. Now that he thought about it, he could feel the demon burrowed into the kid's soul. He wasn't as adept as Sam but it was there, an inky darkness surrounding...everything.

Everyone in the camp had it.

Which meant everyone was possessed.

The demon took a cocky step forward and Dean threw a hand out, stopping it in its tracks. Damn powers could finally come in handy, it seemed.

The demon screamed and strained against the hold, so Dean drew electricity from the generator next door and placed it into the shield. He was momentarily light headed but the demon collapsed, trapped in chains of electricity. They'd wear out in a few hours, but that was enough time to get out.

He left the demon in the guard and hefted Sam up over his shoulder, already swearing his too-trusting brother up a storm.

* * *

The demon hit him again, and he bit down on his tongue again. There was more blood in his mouth than saliva at this point.

"You couldn't just ask _them_?" Aaron said to the demon sarcastically around a mouthful of blood. This was getting old.

The demon twisted David's face grotesquely. "I _would_ have...however, the older Winchester was tricker than we'd anticipated. Petty parlor tricks; we'll get him eventually."

"Oh yeah," Aaron nodded. "For sure."

The demon in David retaliated by swinging the knife down, and this time Aaron couldn't even scream as the pain courses through his hand. He looked down in horror and saw a hand laying on the floor, blood spurting from the wrist. It wasn't attached. It wasn't-

Everything grayed out for a second, and when he came to again the demon was siting in his lap. David's blue eyes were inches from his face. Aaron swallowed around a mouthful of bile, inches away from screaming his head off. His wrist hurt, just hurt so bad. He couldn't move either of his legs. Each jostle of the demon's body was like rubbing against a live wire.

"I'll ask one more time. What. Are. The Winchesters'. Plans?"

"_Bite. Me_." He could barely shape the words but he damn well tried. He'd bleed out from his arm soon anyway. Might as well go out kicking. Or twitching, in his case.

The demon leaned forward to do just that when an invisible force pulled him off of Aaron, jarring his arm and making him scream. Dean appeared behind the demon, green eyes blazing. Sam was slumped against the wall, hair matted with blood.

"Oh look. More demon scum." Dean kicked David in the ribs, reminiscent of how he'd treated the zombies hours before. The guard was held in place by Sam's shaky hand, hovering a few feet over its body. Aaron watched in a far off, sort of blurry way as the demon shuddered in its host, then gasped. Fire blazed behind its eyes and the demon imploded with a clench of Sam's fist.

He felt Dean's arms around him and was unable to keep his eyes open. The pain where his hand had been was a dull throb at this point, and he suspected it had something to do with the major blood loss he was experiencing. Aaron opened his eyes once and felt the bile rise in his throat again as he saw his dismembered limb in Sam's hand, heard the words _sorry—Dean I don't think I can—can you heal this—no—sorry—Aaron I'm sorry, we can't heal this_

He felt light against his arm anyway, and the pain faded away. Suddenly his legs were whole again, and he could feel the aching tendons reattach. They were carrying him but he felt nothing, weightless. He blinked open and saw Sam's hands raised high, drawing smoke out of a thousand bodies. Blood covered his face, leaking from his eyes and nose and ears and he still drew the smoke out, torrents and torrents of darkness and so he slept.

* * *

A/N More to come soon. Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought! :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Here's another chapter. Sorry it's a shortie!:)

* * *

Aaron woke up slowly, coming to consciousness with a strange sort of numb feeling in every limb. His body felt weighed down and suffocated. His head was sluggish and fuzzy, but he forced his eyes open. A heavy quilt was thrown across his chest, and for a second he got lost in the whorls and spirals of the rough cloth.

Trees and dirt flew past him to the right, and he slowly but surely put two and two together. He was in the front seat of the Winchesters' car, bundled into the crook between the door and the bucket seat.

Aaron's thoughts trailed off for a second and everything grayed out.

The effort it took to open his eyes the second time was enormous. The earlier feeling of warmth had faded slightly, and he could feel faint twinges of pain in his right arm. He shifted and felt the numb sensation intermingle with the pain in his wrist, dawning horror making his heart beat faster, faster faster-

He sat up in the bucket seat and pushed the heavy quilt back with his left hand, grunting in pain as it dragged across his body. Shock was all he could feel as the fabric fell off his lap.

Where his right wrist had been was a bandage-wrapped lump. It was really more of a stub-he couldn't really think of anything else to call it. He tried to move his hand and watched the stub twitch, disbelieving. Pain lanced up his arm, and he bit back a groan.

A voice cleared its throat next to him, breaking the feverish silence.

"We...I'm sorry."

Dean was driving, face downturned in the morning sun. When he raised his head his eyes were spectacularly green. Aaron realized after a second that it was the just the sun, diving into the other man's eyes and flaring them a thousand shades of green.

Aaron flushed as their gazes connected, remembering the earlier animosity and dislike the other man hadn't bothered to hide. Dean's eyes stared straight into his soul, and for a second, he felt the other man's remorse intensely. He was genuinely sorry, and somehow that soothed Aaron's pain a little.

He looked down, spotting where his right hand had been and flinched, remembering David's possession. The knife. Spitting blood.

"Thanks for…thank you for getting me out of there." Aaron shaped the words slowly, but with genuine respect for the other man. Dean inclined his head. For a second Aaron felt the phantom imprint of the kid's arms around him, remembering just who'd carried him to safety. "Thank you."

"We owe you a thank you too...but I think Sam wanted to say it, if you don't mind." Dean shifted awkwardly, as if the words made him uncomfortable. They probably did, considering he'd hated Aaron's guts less than 24 hours before.

The mention of Sam made him turn in the seat, drawing a pained grunt as his legs hit the dashboard.

The younger man was slumped across the backseat, unconscious. His face had been wiped clean of blood, though traces of it still remained at his temples and the corners of his eyes. Stark white bandages covered the right side of his face, failing to completely cover the extensive bruising that trailed down his face. He seemed to be breathing normally, however, unconsciousness taking years off his appearance.

Aaron moved to turn back to Dean and grunted in pain as his right arm brushed against the seat cushion. He bit his tongue through a blinding haze of pain and suddenly felt a soothing pair of hands around his wrist, guiding him slowly back to reality.

Dean carefully unwound the bandage with cool hands, leaning in so he didn't jostle Aaron any further. The older hunter watched in shocked disbelief as the car continued hurtling down the road. The wheel remained steady, guiding the car down the hills and curves of wherever they were with no guide or assistance from its driver. Dean continued to unwind the bandage, not glancing up as he examined the wound carefully.

Aaron felt the urge to turn away as the rest of the bandage was undone, but bit down on it at the last moment. God, it hurt.

The stump that was revealed was shiny pink and healthy, blending into his dark skin like it had healed for months before now. There was no chance this was the wound he had sustained hours before—and yet, it was healed.

He looked down suddenly at his legs and realized that he could move them again, remembering the aching pain he'd felt as David had ripped into the tendons and nerves before it had all gone numb. It was impossible-but in the last 24 hours, he'd seen a lot of things that shouldn't have been possible at all.

He was shocked out of his reverie as Dean's hands clasped gently around the stump, a low light cupped in his palms. The pain he'd been feeling for the past few minutes faded away, shimmering into his skin. Aaron was still staring in shock at the combination of Dean and the ghostly wheel, unable or perhaps unwilling to process so much at once.

Dean finally noticed his stare and actually flushed, looking up at the steering wheel. "I, uh, don't really know how I do that. Or the healing."

Aaron blinked. "I...These were the powers you and Sam were talking about, huh?"

"Right. Except I got the lame powers." Dean put down Aaron's arm and reached for the bandage, wrapping it tightly in small increments. "Sam gets all the badass attack stuff." he muttered.

"I wouldn't call healing lame." Aaron replied, bracing for pain that never came as the bandage tightened. The car's wheel continued to guide them down the road, quietly turning as the path changed. "Your car seems to enjoy it."

"Oh, I bet she does," Dean purred, smiling at the dashboard. He clipped Aaron's bandage in place and checked back on Sam. He was curled up into the seat, struggling to cram more than six feet into a small bench seat and somehow succeeding. Dean continued to tap the dashboard. "I bet you do, baby."

Aaron bit out a laugh at that. A man's love for his car. It didn't surprise him, somehow. It kept his mind off the bittersweet moment.

"So, we grabbed a couple boxes of food before we got you out. We'll be good for a couple weeks." Dean broke the silence, eyes finally back on the road. He spoke procedurally. "The camp was entirely possessed. I don't know how we didn't sense it, but they were waiting for us. The demon in your buddy probably gave them the heads up."

"He was possessing David," Aaron affirmed, dazed, waiting to feel Dean's disapproval for the betrayal. It hadn't been his fault, but it was his friend. The other man shook his head.

"This is all fucked up. All these demons and zombies. Sam passing out from all the demons he's had to exorcise. Stupid powers not letting me protect him—or you—from any of it. What the hell are we even doing here, I mean-"

Aaron got the distinct impression, had Sam not been sleeping in the backseat right now, the rant would have been quite a bit louder. That being said, Dean took a breath and visibly relaxed, eyes closing briefly.

"If it's any consolation, I'm sure—whatever you did, to get here—I know it was worth it. For the rest of us humans."

The other man's mouth quirked. "The rest of you humans."

"I'd call haunting your car kind of supernatural, sorry. Though I'm not holding it against you, considering y'all saved my life. And I'm grateful for that. Really."

Dean smiled and tapped the wheel, glancing almost fondly at him. "You know, you're not that bad for an old guy."

"Old? I'm only fifty, son." Aaron said, affronted. They were getting into a good pace now. A thought came to mind. "Besides, you're one to talk. How old are you anyway?"

"29. And some change."

"No, how old you are now?" Aaron clarified. They'd been legends since day one of the Apocalypse . "In 2047, I mean."

The other man shifted slightly, hands tightening on the wheel. The atmosphere in the car changed slightly. Sam snuffled in his sleep behind them, interrupting the sudden silence.

"…Almost seventy." Dean whispered the words after a moment. He didn't look at Aaron, cracking a strained smile as his eyes focused on the road again. "I guess I beat you after all, old man."

"And Sam's your younger brother?"

Dean's lips quirked again, like he was trying not to smile. "By about four years, yeah."

Aaron wanted to ask about that, but quelled his curiosity. "How's he doing?" he said instead.

"Concussion, or, he used to have one. I couldn't heal all the bruising without his help. He passed out." Dean shrugged, irritated. "He'll be okay. I had to…knock him out because of the wards. Your guard buddy did something with them, but I got us out."

Aaron felt the tone in your guard buddy and flinched internally. The other man didn't seem angry, though. Just irritated and protective, which Aaron could understand. He glanced back at Sam's unconscious face again and felt uncharacteristically fond.

"I'm sorry that happened at all. I would have thought Bartlett would've been safe. You saw the wards."

"Demons are tricky," Dean said. "Even in the future. What I'm worried about is being able to stop after all, after this."

"The demons-they wanted to know what your plans were. Where you were taking about going." Aaron supplied.

"Of course they did."

"This has to do with Lucifer, doesn't it? He's looking for you, with the demons."

Dean's hands tightened again on the wheel, and Aaron swore he heard plastic creaking. The other man's face gave away none of his emotions, however. "He's not looking for me. But you're right. They'll come for Sam again soon. We need a plan."

Sam, speak of the-well. Sam moaned in his sleep, tossing restlessly in the back seat; a feat in itself. Dean eyed his brother carefully through the back mirror and pulled them to the side of the road.

"Zombies," He explained to Aaron, grabbing a machete from under his seat. It was covered in dried blood and other bodily fluids, caked on in layers. "Every time he senses them I have to pull over. Otherwise we run over the pack as I ge blood on my hood."

"Learned that from experience, huh?" Aaron leaned forward, spotting a trail of guts hanging off the grill. He wondered vaguely how many packs the other man had run over while he'd been unconscious. "So what, you wait until they show up and then kill them? What if you couldn't handle them all?"

"They're attracted to Sam, I think. Or both of us." Dean slowed the car to a complete stop, even though his hands weren't touching the wheel anymore, instead caressing the sharp edge of the blade. "They come in sixes. Dunno what that means yet, but I can take 'em. Or hold them off."

Aaron saw movement in the corner of his eye and spotted a zombie a few hundred yards off, stumbling purposefully towards them. Sure enough, five others were trailing behind it. Dean sighed and hefted his blade over a shoulder, opening the door.

"Want help?"

"Ha. You're funny." Dean snorted, climbing out of the driver's seat. He pointed the machete's tip at Aaron. "Watch my brother. Screw up and I'll kill you."

Aaron narrowed his eyes, but it wasn't like he was exactly mobile with a machete at this point. He tasked himself with shifting around enough to be able to see Sam and Dean at the same time through the window. The zombies met a quick and bloody end from Dean's machete, efficiently taken down with less time and energy than Aaronnter could have accomplished. Maybe it was important to remember that the boys had been hunting legends before they had actually become legends, but Aaron still couldn't see it. He saw a tired boy haunted by his demons and another boy tired enough to stop fighting off his own.

Sam's eyes fluttered open and Aaron saw yellow in them briefly, before the younger man blinked it away. He sat up and reached a hand out. The remaining two zombies Dean had been doing battle with exploded, collapsing in piles to the ground.

"Damn it, I had that, Sam!" Dean shouted, walking back to the Impala. A look of relief flitted under his annoyed expression. Sam just looked like a confused puppy, hand still outstretched.

"I...I thought you were being attacked." Sam blinked. "You weren't being attacked, right? Where are we?"

Aaron almost laughed at the dumbfounded look on his face. Killer satanist machine? Not Sam Winchester. "Actually, I'd like to know that too."

"Hey, Aaron." Sam said, turning at the sound of his voice. His eyes skittered over his bandaged arm, expression tightening. "How are you, um, feeling? Dean was nice, I hope?"

"I'm doing well, thanks for asking." Dean gave Aaron a pointed look as he said the words, still cleaning off the blade outside the Impala. "Your brother was an entertaining host. How are you feeling?"

Sam's hand went to his head, and he winced when it hit the bandage. "I don't know how much you saw...but that was a lot of demons. I'm actually kind of surprised we're not all dead."

"Which is why you shouldn't be using your powers to kill random ass zombies," Dean interrupted, sliding into his seat. He gave Sam a look. "Especially after using that much juice."

Sam gave him something close to puppy eyes, but Dean's expression didn't budge. He turned to Aaron instead, changing the subject.

"So, um, how do you feel about staying with us for a while? On the road, I mean. Until we find a safe camp." Sam asked. "We can keep-Dean can keep healing you a little bit each day. And-"

"...Son. It sounds fine to me. However," Aaron interrupted, drawing the words out for the perfect moment. It was good to jab a little humor into their day. Hell, they all needed it. He waited until Sam and Dean were both staring at him.

"On the other hand..."

Sam's eyes widened but Dean howled, pounding his knee as Aaron raised his right arm, and that's how Aaron officially joined the Winchesters.

* * *

A/N Next update will have more of Sam and Dean's back story. Leave me a comment, and let me know what you thought!:)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Here's the next chapter! Sorry it's a little late. Exams are, well, exams. Hope you enjoy the little reveal at the end!

* * *

They pulled off the road later that night, after a full day of killing zombies on the highway, roaring down the road to wherever they were going. At around nine p.m. Dean, still covered in blood, argued incessantly with his brother about zombie killing responsibilities (namely, that Sam didn't have any) and, with a muttered _fuck_ _it_, gunned the Impala through the next group of undead beings at close to 80 miles an hour.

For a terrifying moment the windshield was covered in blood, obscuring the road, until Dean turned on the windshield wipers, still cursing his brother under his breath, and maneuvered them through it.

Aaron's heart rate was nowhere near normal for the next ten minutes, but the message must have been well received by the other zombies, because Sam didn't sense any after that. An hour or two later they finally turned off the highway and settled in for the night.

"Camp" was a small alcove of trees a few dozen feet off the road. Dean carefully maneuvered the car off the asphalt and onto the grass, pulling it around to form a small shelter by the trees; circling the wagons, as it were. The sky was dark but didn't seem to be threatening rain-not like it rained much these days. Almost all the states were dry and dusty, so Aaron relished the sight of fresh grass through the window. He wondered vaguely where they were, trying to catch sight of any landforms or rivers.

The older hunter clambered out of the front seat awkwardly, impatient to touch the ground after a whole day in the car. He winced as his right arm pushed for the door before he could realize what was happening, pain tearing through the limb. The door swung open a second later, untouched. Aaron caught a wink from Dean over his shoulder as he exited the car and smiled in gratitude.

"Alright. Sam, you're on wards. I've got dinner." Dean clapped his hands together, then rubbed them together. He looked young and tired in the low light, all dark circles and determination. Sam didn't look much better, if not worse. "Aaron. Why don't you help me out?"

Sam clapped him on the back and began pacing the small alcove of trees. Aaron followed Dean around to the trunk of the Impala, whistling in appreciation as the other man popped up a false bottom. Inside rested two slim crates.

"You managed to grab those before we took off?" Aaron said, thinking of all the people back in the camp. It was almost two months' worth of supplies, to his eye. Then he remembered the possessions. "How many did you leave behind?"

Dean grabbed the two crates with ease, hefting them up. "There were about twelve. We took two. And no, from what I heard from Sam, most of the hosts weren't alive, or worse."

"I didn't say that out loud. You psychic now?"

"Ha. No." The other man set the crates down on the grass, fixing Aaron with a calculating look. "It's on your face. You know, for a hunter, you're awful genuine."

Aaron frowned, moving to cross his arms and thinking better of it. "Genuine means I care about things."

"Ouch. That stung a little." Dean smiled briefly at him, teeth flashing in the darkness, letting him know he wasn't entirely serious. Aaron watched as the crates were cracked open, revealing the MREs and food packets and various cooking tools that came in each set. The other man sifted through them, quickly finding a cooking stand and a set of matches. He grabbed a thin metal container and handed it to Aaron, who grasped it gingerly.

"Wanna go get some water? There's a creek over by Sam."

Aaron nodded. "Sure." He grabbed the pail and headed off towards where he'd seen the other man disappear to. Dean continued to fiddle with the camping set, getting a low flame going with an excited murmur.

"Sam?"

"Over here." Aaron walked between two pine trees, finding Sam just closing up the perimeter around their little campsite. He had a small piece of chalk and a long stick. Chalk markings were etched onto the trunks of nearby trees, crude Enochian runes jarring his eyes if he looked at them too long. Sam seemed unfazed, welcoming him with a small smile. Smaller runes had been carved into the damp earth around the campsite, most likely by the stick he was holding. He looked exhausted.

"Aaron. Dean already got you running errands?" Sam tried to take the pail from him, frowning. His hair fell across his face again, and Aaron wondered how that length was practical for a hunter. "You should go sit down. I can get whatever the hell he wants fine."

Aaron pulled the pail back from the hunter, clucking his tongue at the younger man. "I lost a hand, boy, not a foot. I can walk down to some creek no problem."

The lines between Sam's eyes smoothed out, and he grinned. "You say it like _crick. _I…we knew a guy who said it that way too. It's weird."

"Was how my daddy said it," Aaron leaned under a pine tree, ignoring Sam's compulsory spotting. He found the small _creeh-uk _burbling merrily along the forest floor and scooped up a bucket of it. "Your dad…John Winchester, right? Legend on his own."

"He was." Sam said gravely, a quiet presence at his back. Aaron turned around and faced him, pail in hand. The younger man looked pensive, though not bitter. He shook his head. "How'd you get into hunting, Aaron?"

"My wife." Aaron shrugged and left it at that, clambering back over the roots of that damned pine. Sam inclined his head, and they made their way back over to Dean, who seemed to be swearing up a storm over the little cooking pot.

"You better be finished with those wards, Sammy." Dean said without turning around, back to the two of them. "You do the Enochian ones too?"

Sam sighed. "Yes, Dean. And Aramaic. And Hebrew, and everything else I could think of. Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"Ah?" Dean asked, turning around. Butter couldn't melt in his mouth, it seemed. He looked at Aaron, face lighting up when he saw the pail. "Water! Good, we can cook now."

"What's for dinner?" Sam asked, peering over his brother's shoulder. Dean smacked him with a travel-sized spoon, pushing him backwards.

"No touching. It's gonna be..uh…" He picked up the food package, reading the label. "Salisbury steak. And mashed potatoes, but I'll have to make those second."

Sam snorted a laugh and sat down, edging closer to the small fire. Aaron handed Dean the pail of water and joined him. The older Winchester happily poured it into the cooking pot and threw himself down next to Sam.

"Gimme," Dean pulled at the bandages still wrapped around Sam's head, only pulling harder as his brother tried to evade his hands. "Sam. Sit still so I can heal your goddamned head, okay?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Sam acquiesced, folding his arms and ducking a little so Dean could reach better. Aaron watched as the extensive bruising down Sam's face grew as the bandages were peeled away. Black tendrils disappeared into his hairline, centering on an ugly splotch in the middle of the kid's temple. Aaron briefly recalled Dean saying he'd had to knock Sam out, and from what he was seeing, it had been the quick dirty way.

"Ouch."

"Stop _moving _then." Dean huffed, hands splayed across Sam's head. A second later the glowing light Aaron had seen grew in his palms. Sam's eyes fluttered, a relieved look on his face as the light grew even brighter. The bruises seemed to slither back into themselves, before disappearing entirely. "There we go. All better?"

Sam rubbed his head, looking for all intents and purposes a confused puppy. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Aaron!" He startled when Dean said his name. The other man gestured at his arm. "Your turn. C'mon."

Aaron put his arm out gingerly, watching again as Dean unwrapped the bandages there with great care. He'd taken care of Sam much the same way, though with more brotherly banter and less stoic facial expressions. Dean's hands cupped his stump and Aaron again found himself transfixed, wondering if this was the moment he was going to finally wake up. The light shimmered and all the leftover pain he'd been feeling vanished. Dean took a look at the wound and frowned.

"What?" Aaron asked, a tremor of nervousness in his voice.

"I think you can leave the bandage off now. If you wanted to." Dean said. Their eyes met and Aaron shrugged. That would mean looking at the wound—accepting it. Aaron thought it over, then nodded.

"...Sounds good to me. It was getting itchy."

Dean smiled and promptly threw the cloth into the fire. He leaned back against Sam's knees and collapsed, looking exhausted again. His eyes closed suddenly, and Sam mouthed the word _healing _at Aaron over Dean's head.

"I can finish dinner," Sam said quietly, gently pushing Dean's unconscious form off of his legs. The other man mumbled in his sleep, grabbing Sam's jean's cuff. His eyes fluttered open briefly.

"My job…bitch."

Sam smiled down at him, twisting out of the light hold. "Sure thing, jerk."

Aaron smiled before he realized he was doing it, and God, he'd been doing a lot of that lately.

* * *

"We did it because there were no other options," Sam said after a long moment, hands clasped around a cup of water.

The dying fire cast long shadows across his face, ancient like they were long-lost cowboys telling stories around a plains campfire.

"Lucifer was destroying the earth. Michael wasn't even in the picture, beyond giving ambiguous orders to the angels. We were planning something big, like solve-it-all big. He—Lucifer-was doing so much bad, wrecking things and coming into my dreams at night, telling me all these stories. Michael did the same to Dean. We were going insane."

"Lucifer and Michael were going to have a battle; that much, we knew." Dean took over. "The plan was to have Sammy—Sam—say _yes _to Lucifer, long enough to get a hold on him and throw them both back into hell. The cage was where Lucifer was kept for millennia, and we had it from a good source that he could be thrown back in there again. All we needed was Sam to do the throwing. But then something happened."

Aaron waited, but the pause lengthened beyond a mere catch of breath. "What?"

"I…I had a vision." Sam said, glancing up at Aaron. For a second his eyes were that terrible yellow again, and then he blinked. "When I was—before Lucifer, I was mildly psychic. I had death visions, usually a couple hours before they happened. Right before we were saying our goodbyes, I had another one. First one in years. But this one—this one was different. I was on the floor in a heartbeat, knocked out. All I could see was fire. Lucifer was using my hands, tearing into-" Sam swallowed suddenly, eyes downcast. "He had won. Somehow, I had failed. He killed Michael with my—his—sword and tore the earth apart, human by human. He _hated _us. His anger was so strong—and I couldn't. I couldn't do that. I couldn't kill D-"

Dean traded off with him again as Sam's words failed him. "Obviously the plan wasn't going to work. I don't know what your gospel says, but if Michael and Lucifer had their true vessels, they were as close to all-powerful as they could get. They could be infinite, and God wasn't close to stepping in. So we couldn't let them have us."

"It was selfish," Sam said quickly, running a hand through his hair, "God, I know how selfish it was. But I knew we had no choice. So many people were going to die. It was tear the earth to shreds with the "final battle", or destroy only part of it. We went for the lesser evil, and hid ourselves away."

"That was the house in Sioux Falls," Aaron said, connecting the dots. The cup in his own hands began to shake, though he couldn't tell why. "You were hiding in that room, from Lucifer and Michael. Dahlia said it was some sort of sleeping spell."

"Ancient," Dean affirmed, looking at Sam. The tattoos winding up their arms were covered now, though Aaron could only picture them as black, inky lines. "We were supposed to sleep forever. Those wards had enough power to last millennia, if not longer. Bo—we made sure of that."

Aaron watched the emotion in both of their eyes for a moment, feeling their remorse pounding against his senses. Maybe he was becoming psychic too, or maybe it was just a side effect of being around them. "And the powers? The healing?"

"Sam had powers before we did the spell. They were…from a demon." Sam turned away at his brother's words, and it was clear to see there was much shame and guilt there. "We used that and blood, from both of us, to seal the wards. When I woke up, I knew something was different. Something had changed."

"They were most likely amplified from the blood magic," Sam said, edging symbols in the dirt near the fire. "Dean borrowed a little of power from that, and my powers were just…notched up a little."

"Yeah, except I didn't get anything cool," Dean lamented, nudging his brother's knee in an attempt to be lighthearted. "Sam gets to blow demons up from the inside. I just heal stuff, and other shit."

Aaron nodded along with this, though he felt the far-off urge to correct Dean's swearing for some reason. He shook it away, trying to process all that had been said. "And now you're on the run again, from Lucifer and Michael. The angels."

"I know Lucifer's last vessels weren't full-blooded, not even close," Dean said, a sharp edge to his words. He glanced at Sam, who was still examining the dirt intensely. "He should be burning through them every day now, if not hour. He needs his true vessel to function, and temps won't do. He was burning through his vessel the last time we saw him, and that was decades ago."

"What about Michael?" Strangely, he directed this question towards Sam. The younger man looked up, eyes flicking briefly to the sky.

"Not even the angels saw him. He came into Dean's dreams once or twice, but no demands. No threats. It was his garrisons that chased us. Michael was neutral until Lucifer was ready to fight, and he wasn't, not back then."

Dean flinched slightly, and Aaron watched him curiously. A strange tension found its way into the line of his shoulders, disappearing as quickly as it came. "Yeah. No one's seen him."

A long silence followed, and Aaron tried in vain to come up with another question. The Winchester gospel had spelled out Dean's original plan to the letter—the possession, Sam's fall into the cage. It had been scripture for hunters for decades…and it was all false. But Aaron could see why they had chosen the second path, though he couldn't begin to understand completely.

"That's…quite a story, boys." Aaron said eventually, leaning back against a log he'd found earlier. "I don't know how you did it all, to be honest. But I'm willing to help you as much as I can. It's a smidgen of what I owe you, for what you did."

Sam flushed and Dean turned his head away, but they both accepted the words without protest. After a moment Dean collected their cups and placed them back into the container. It was getting extremely late, even by hunter standards. Dean bundled Sam into the back of the Impala, gesturing Aaron towards the seat he'd ridden in all day. He took the bucket seat gratefully, grabbing the proffered woolen blanket and tumbling straight into sleep with heavy thoughts.

* * *

He was in a dream, though he couldn't tell how he knew that. It didn't feel like any other dream he'd had, but Aaron knew instantly, without a doubt, that this was what lucid dreaming felt like. He was being pulled towards a point in space, and suddenly his body was in front of him, his feet walking down a rotten dirt road, covered in blood.

His body didn't seem to be his own, because the gasp of air he meant to take in never reached his lungs. Aaron looked forward and saw fire, burning stories and stories above him, around him, below him. He could hear howls and screams in the distance but couldn't see them, which was a small mercy. In front of him a path led downwards, and Aaron heard the faint _cantos _of Dante ringing in his ears, the opening lines he'd read in college when the things of nightmares were just that…nightmares.

Aaron took a fateful step forwards, following the broken road down between the gaping, burned hills. After hours, or maybe minutes of walking, he spotted a lone figure, curled up into itself at the center of a smoking crater.

It was bare and naked, burned and beaten like someone had taken a rod to it, shaking pitifully. Deep burns smoldered in its back, two craters of flesh and blood sizzling around bone. It was the most horrible thing Aaron had ever seen.

It was Sam, he realized, though the naked form looked nothing like the younger man. There was hard muscle and flesh but parts were burned away entirely. His hair was a mess of tangles, hanging in bloody clumps over his face. He was shaking, shivering though the air was beyond hot.

When he looked up at Aaron, as if sensing his presence, pure hell was in his eyes. Aaron felt something seize his body as the man's gaze flickered (he couldn't think of it as Sam, no no) flashed yellow, then red, then a blinding white, so bright he saw stars as they bored into his very soul.

Then the thing in Sam's body screamed, a terrible, wretched note torn from its lungs. It howled and howled until Aaron felt blood in his ears, stumbled backwards and fell, eyes and throat burning. Sam's body curled up into itself again, and only now Aaron could see, from the ground, the red-hot shackles on every limb, burning into his flesh with every twitch.

A cool hand found Aaron's face, coaxing him to his feet. Aaron turned around mindlessly, so relieved that he felt a burgeoning faith within himself, waiting for benediction or damnation from this presence, and he would accept either because the hand was so _cool, _so peaceful. His eyes widened briefly as he saw Dean Winchester standing over him, his eyes lit by pure white fire.

Everything about the younger hunter was wrong. His eyes shone with the might of a thousand angels. His teeth were blinding, the very grace of him leaked out of every pore. His features were that of a general's, stoic and commanding yet so broken. He had a large, terribly beautiful sword at his side, flickering dimly with flame. Aaron could see it somehow, the effect Sam's screams were having on this creature, how it shook this being like delicate china, and Aaron tore his eyes away, willing himself to wake up, wake up—

"_Look away. He sees too much._" Dean's voice was deep, a chorus of a thousand voices. He stared him straight in the eyes, the brightness of his features burning away at Aaron's soul, until he realized just what—who—he was standing in front of. Dean—Michael?-gripped Aaron's arm and he looked down, utterly bewildered.

He watched in shock as a ghostly hand appeared at his wrist, swirling into solid being. Aaron moved it gingerly, watching his own fingers twist against D—_his-_hand. The man's eyes dimmed and he drew the angelic touch away, dissipating the ephemeral hand. Aaron stared blankly at where it had been, shocked.

"_One day I'll give this back to you._" Dean's mouth shaped the words, like a promise and a threat into his ears. Aaron tore his gaze away from the man and gazed at Sam's form again. His head was bowed, hair hanging lank over his face. Aaron swallowed around a mouthful of bile and looked away, from both the blinding light and the darkness. He felt the hold on his soul fall away, and suddenly he was falling backwards.

With a mental _thud _he was back in his body, stretched out as much as he could in the bucket seat of the Impala. He could hear the tossing and shuddering of Sam behind him and wondered who he'd been sharing dreams with. It made sense, since the dream hadn't felt like his to begin with.

Dean was already moving beside him, leaning over to coax Sam awake, and their eyes connected for a brief second. The other man froze.

After a long second Dean put a hand to his lips, and Aaron's questions stalled on his tongue. There was a pinprick of grace at the center of the hunter's pupils, fading quickly. Dean blinked and it was gone, replaced by green.

Sam woke a second later, reaching for Dean before his eyes were completely open, and Aaron leaned back, chest heaving, wondering just what the older hunter was keeping from his brother.

* * *

A/N Uh oh, what does that mean? Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought!:)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** Hey everyone! Sorry that this hasn't been updated in a while...grr, exams. Here's a slightly longer chapter that I split into two parts. The next part will be up hopefully by Friday. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!

* * *

**_Before_**

_Aaron tore his gaze away from the man and gazed at Sam's form again. His head was bowed, hair hanging lank over his face. Aaron swallowed around a mouthful of bile and looked away, from both the blinding light and the darkness. He felt the hold on his soul fall away, and suddenly he was falling backwards._

_With a mental __thud __he was back in his body, stretched out as much as he could in the bucket seat of the Impala. He could hear the tossing and shuddering of Sam behind him and wondered who he'd been sharing dreams with. It made sense, since the dream hadn't felt like his to begin with._

_Dean was already moving beside him, leaning over to coax Sam awake, and their eyes connected for a brief second. The other man froze._

_After a long second Dean put a hand to his lips, and Aaron's questions stalled on his tongue. There was a pinprick of grace at the center of the hunter's pupils, fading quickly. Dean blinked and it was gone, replaced by green._

_Sam woke a second later, reaching for Dean before his eyes were completely open, and Aaron leaned back, chest heaving, wondering just what the older hunter was keeping from his brother._

* * *

**_Now_**

"Dean-"

Aaron chased after the other man, the night chill not the only thing making him shiver. Sam was asleep back in the Impala, tossing again in his sleep, and now he wanted answers. Dean's retreating profile said he probably wasn't going to get any. Aaron couldn't give a damn.

"Dean, you stop right there and talk to me _now_, goddamnit. What the hell did I just see?"

The other man ground to a stubborn halt, turning to face Aaron.

"Nothing." Dean hissed, his eyes a startling green. He tore his gaze away with a grunt. "Nothing at all. Sam's stupid psychic shit. You know how it is. Go back to bed, old man."

"Old man?" Aaron narrowed his eyes, still deliberating over if grabbing the boy's shoulder was a self-destructive idea or not. "I might be old—but I got a damn near feeling I'm not the oldest one here, son."

He let the words and their double meaning sink into the silence around them for a long moment. Dean's anger slowly faded, and he blinked, replacing the emotion with a steely expression.

"What you saw in Sam's dreams is nothing. He shouldn't have been able to show you in the first place."

Aaron tilted his head. "What was it? A dream? Precognition?"

"Both, I think." Dean's tone deepened, and Aaron immediately thought back to when he'd seen the other man in the dream, his chorus of a voice. "He was looking too far forward again. And backwards, perhaps."

The younger hunter sounded so different, so shockingly older. Aaron took a step backwards, feeling the air around him buzz with subtle power. Something was different about Dean, something that didn't have to do with his healing or defensive powers. And Aaron thought he knew what it was.

"Tell me one thing then," Aaron said suddenly, running on theory and the glimmer of emotion in the other man's face. "Will they come for us? Will they come for Sam, because-because of what you are?"

_Are you going to be dangerous?_ was what he really wanted to say. _Are _you_ going to come for Sam?_

Dean, Michael, whoever it was, sighed. A strange formality bled into his posture, until he was standing straight enough to herald in the sunrise Aaron could see to their left.

"They will come for him," He said. The man looked at Aaron, a timeless look in his eyes. "What they don't know will prove detrimental, but they will come. And we-I-will pay a price for letting grace out into the open, protecting Sam. They'll sense it."

The pinpricks of grace. So that was what had Dean—whoever—worried. And now Sam was in danger, because he'd protected Sam and Aaron in the dream.

"So we…wait, then." Aaron said, shuffling. "And keep moving."

Dean nodded, slowly, like listening to Aaron was an afterthought. He cocked his head to the sky. He blinked suddenly and the formal posture vanished. Dean's shoulders slumped and he looked nothing but exhausted, deflating before Aaron's eyes.

"Yeah. But they're not gonna take Sam. Not if I have a chance to stop them."

"Who's them?" Aaron called as the other man walked off, struggling after him.

An impatient sigh came from the other man, edged with exhausted humor.

"Go to bed, old man."

* * *

Aaron didn't mention the dream or their discussion at all in the following days. It was like the night hadn't even happened, in all reality. Having a nightmare as a child was the closest he could equate it to. For his own sanity, he locked up the horrific images of Sam and Dean in a blurry box of uncertainty and threw it towards the back of his head. Lord knew there was enough stuff back there to keep it company.

For Sam's sake he kept quiet, unwilling or unable to reflect on the terrible images he'd seen of the other man, naked and bound, tortured within a breadth of madness. It hadn't even been his dream and he was filled with horror at every thought he had about it.

Dean was even more reticent than Aaron, and that didn't surprise the older man. He'd ushered Sam into wakefulness with a quick shove or a tap multiple times for the rest of that night, then left him alone. Nothing was said to the younger Winchester, but Aaron could tell Dean—Michael-was worried, and with due cause. Sam was a psychic klaxon, and the nightmares didn't bode good news. Lucifer or his demons were closing in, and both he and Dean could feel it. Whether it was the errant grace or Sam's nightmare, they were coming, and coming fast. And Aaron still only knew about half of the pieces on the board, if not less.

"Clowns or midgets?" was all Dean said to his brother that morning, lighthearted, and they both laughed. Another old joke, perhaps. Making light of the situation. Sam's dimples made a surprise appearance, and everything seemed to be looking up.

Aaron knew better, however.

They pulled out of their camping spot and knocked down a couple states before stopping the next day, tired to the bone. Dean settled them somewhere east of where they'd been, and that was all Aaron knew. The other man watched the skies the entire way to the next camp, trading glances with Aaron before stopping and looking away, shrugging back into his other self with a small smile.

Aaron blinked and tried to tell himself, repeatedly, that he wasn't looking for a pinprick or two of grace in the other man's eyes, but he couldn't lie. Sam's dreams were exactly that—dreams—but he'd seen the grace after waking up. He'd seen Dean's eyes, seen the boy speak with a voice millennia old.

What it meant worried him, striking fear and courage into his heart. The way Aaron saw it, working with the information he had, either Michael was hiding out in Dean, or another angel was. Or Dean had always had an angel's powers, though that wouldn't make much sense. It had to be Michael—but when had the angel possessed Dean? And why had he been hiding out instead of doing something?

The question was why he hadn't been affected by any of the angel warding or sigils—and why he hadn't shown his face when they were attacked at Bartlett. Maybe he had, Aaron mused briefly. Sam had been unconscious, and Aaron had been hallway across the camp. But that wasn't the point. The point was, if someone was gaming to have _Apocalypse: Round Two_, they had one half of the players already geared up and ready to go. It would explain why Michael hadn't been seen in so long. It didn't explain anything else, however.

Sam, for all his night terrors, chatted happily with Aaron and Dean during their driving hours. Aaron couldn't help but lean closer to Sam, paternally defensive. Michael was eager to kill his brother, and though Dean seemed less inclined, it hung like a prophecy over Aaron's head.

He liked Sam. After a few days of discussing charms and wards (the kid knew his stuff) he'd even consider them friends. But angels were as much the enemy as demons were, weren't they? Maybe Michael—whoever it was—wouldn't hurt them at all.

Still, the feeling persisted.

* * *

The Impala was cruising across the asphalt three days later when they came.

Dean tapped the wheel absent-mindedly, hawk like as he gazed across the skies. Aaron watched the empty, barren fields go by outside of the car, talking to Sam about some curse they'd encountered back in '09. Clouds covered the empty, flat land. He could see thunderheads in the distance and shivered internally. Something instinctive or primal in him was sensing discord, he supposed. Something about man being out on the plains that brought out animal instincts.

Sam seemed to notice his discomfort; his eyes flared yellow briefly, cloudy as he reached out around the car. After a week on the road Aaron recognized when Sam's powers spread out around him and Dean, checking the warding on the car. His brow furrowed after a second and Aaron swallowed nervously. Something was wrong. Maybe he'd sensed Dean's stowaway. Who knew.

"Dean. You see anything up ahead?"

His brother closed his eyes, face upturned. Aaron froze at the gesture, watching the formality in Dean's shoulders grow with dawning understanding. The feeling of wrongness grew exponentially, and Sam shivered in the seat next to him, subconsciously shifting towards Aaron.

"No," Dean seemed to wake up, shaking his head. He seemed normal again, but the look of wariness on his face remained. The hunter pressed his features into an easygoing smile. "You sense some zombies or something? We might have a couple up ahead, you never know."

Aaron lurched backwards in his seat as Dean casually floored the gas pedal. He glanced at the speedometer and almost had a heart attack. "We're going, ah, a little fast, son."

"We're fine." Dean said, gripping the wheel tightly, the movement belying the calm in his voice. "We just need to...keep going. Keep moving."

"Dean, slow down!" Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder suddenly, shaking it. "We're going 150, jerk! You wanna crash into some zombies in the middle of nowhere?"

"We're _fine,_" Dean repeated, glancing at the backseat. Aaron stared at him, wide-eyed, knowing something had to be terribly wrong. They weren't just running away anymore. They were being hunted. "Sit _down_, Samuel."

"Why'd you call me-I don't know, man, there's just-you don't feel it?" Sam tapped his temple unconsciously, eyes slowly turning yellow again. He leaned forward again, pleading with his brother. "Dean, there's something- holy _shit_, look _out!_"

Dean slammed on the brakes as a man appeared in the middle of the road, skidding the Impala to the right with a wrench of the wheel. Aaron grabbed for the headrest as the entire car turned sideways, praying they wouldn't flip over. Sam crashed into him and they went tumbling into the passenger side window. He caught a glimpse of Dean's face between Sam's arms and saw the other man turning the wheel furiously, his face pale.

Thunder cracked outside and suddenly the smell of ozone was all he could feel, see, think. Sam's arm crashed into his missing right hand and he groaned at the sudden pain, head clearing.

The Impala finally levelled, after traveling a good eighth of a mile on two wheels, falling to all fours with a creaking groan of metal. They pulled to a stop in the middle of the road, spinning around so they were horizontal to the highway. Dean clambered out of the driver's seat before the wheels even came to a complete stop, gaze already attached to the skies.

"Who the…what the _hell_ was that?" Sam coughed, disentangling himself from Aaron with a muttered apology. He practically threw himself out of the Impala, struggling to stand up. Dark blood was at his temple.

"Dean. Listen to me. What the hell is going on?"

"…They're coming," Dean said simply. He faced the empty road, hands at his side. "Sam, they're coming."

Sam looked far from understanding, but the words sent chills down Aaron's spine.

"_Who_? Who is coming? Demons? Angels? Michael?"

"All of the above," Dean whispered, as if to himself. Aaron could see the faint, dreamy outline of a sword at his side, barely visible. He wondered vaguely how far Dean-Michael-whoever, would go to protect his brother. Or if Aaron would even make it out of this battle alive. "Sam, get in the car."

"No."

"Sam-"

Sam shook his head, shoulders heaving. "Dean, I said _no-_"

"_Now._" A flare of impatient grace and suddenly Sam was in the car, seat belted into the back. Aaron stood, dumbfounded. A sword appeared at Dean's side, blazing with white flame.

His back straightened and the thunder above them roared, edged in by distant lightning.

Dean's care-free attitude, smiles and jokes were gone. Before him was a general standing before his own, solitary battle, an unearthly force.

It was accurate to say that Aaron was scared shitless. Just a little.

"When we last spoke, I said I would give something back to you." Dean's mouth shaped the words, but the voice was unearthly. He turned to Aaron, gaze fierce. Another sword formed in his left hand, smaller but equally as deadly. "I don't renege on my promises. Take it."

Aaron reached for the silvery blade tentatively with his left hand, and was rebuked swiftly.

"No. Your right hand."

Aaron complied, watching in horror and surprise as smoke curled around his right wrist, halfway between the blade and his body. His right hand reformed from the vapor, drawing feeling into his fingers and palm as it finally, finally clasped around the broadsword. He gripped it lightly, then a little tighter, hefting it in his hand. It was pleasantly warm, almost buzzing in his hand.

"..I...thank you. Thank you." Aaron said to the angel, after a long moment of totally not freaking out. Dean-Michael? nodded sharply.

"Now. Help me defend my brother."

Aaron glanced at the Impala, and found Sam pounding against the window with both hands. He shouted at Aaron, but the words were lost in the roar of the storms above them. Michael-he was sure it was Michael now, who else could it be-turned them gently towards the horizon, where they'd passed that first body.

"Get ready."

Aaron saw figures in the distance, hunter's instincts trying to pinpoint them, attach them a name. From the gait of the group to their left, some were zombies. Others marched on without missing a step, and after a long moment Aaron could see their black eyes. There seemed like thousands of them. Lightning struck again to their right and heaven's distinct, blue light raced down from the sky. Aaron went breathless as he saw even more bodies descend towards the group. Angels. Angels and demons, marching together, for them. Against them.

"They'll come for me," Michael said, catching Aaron's look, or perhaps just his thoughts. "And the demons will come for Sam. They'll drag him off to Lucifer and our fight will begin. Do not misunderstand me when I say that is exactly what cannot happen. That is the last thing that can happen today, or we all lose."

Aaron nodded after a second, recognizing the importance but scared nonetheless. "Where is...where is Lucifer?"

"In the wind. Broken into pieces." Michael shrugged, indifferent. He gave the advancing army an apathetic glance. "His vessels couldn't contain him any longer. He will want Sam with a vengeance. He will do _anything _to achieve him. Understand?"

"I…understand."

Dean eyes shone through for a second, regretful, the grace flickering as he glanced back at Sam. With a small gesture Sam fell unconscious inside the car, his body going limp. Sorrow colored Michael's face freely.

"He looks just like Lucifer, when he was younger. Pure." Aaron heard the formality creep back into his voice and felt the urge to stand straighter permeate his mind. He turned back to the road, as the hordes converged upon them. Michael's eyes were pure flame again, but the pain remained. "My brother is lost, Aaron. But maybe-maybe, I can save this one."

The grace in his eyes and flesh vanished, but Aaron could feel the heat of his sword against his leg still. An illusion, maybe. Dean's human eyes flickered over to him, nodding once. The sword at his side was invisible, but not, as Aaron had guessed, gone completely.

The demons and angels were a quarter mile away now, and each sent an individual forward. Aaron tightened his grip on the sword Michael had given him, too shocked to pray or think about survival. He threw an errant thought and prayer Sam's way and watched Michael nod minutely to his right, as if he'd heard.

"Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe."

Aaron recognized David's body and voice. He was sporting a pair of black eyes again, and it twisted his young face. A bloody chunk was torn out of his chest, like someone had clawed it out.

"Well. Not so much the living and breathing. But really! What a surprise! Is little bro there somewhere?" The demon peered around them, eyes glinting. "You think he'd be willing to talk for a few minutes?"

* * *

**A/N** Uh oh. They're coming for Sam. Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** No joke, I wrote this before I saw the season 10 finale and the parallels are killing me. Please enjoy some awesome fighting, and don't murder me for the cliffhanger!

* * *

**_Before_**

_The demons and angels were a quarter mile away now, and each sent an individual forward. Aaron tightened his grip on the sword Michael had given him, too shocked to pray or think about survival. He threw an errant thought and prayer Sam's way and watched Michael nod minutely to his right, as if he'd heard. _

_"__Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe." Aaron recognized David's body and voice. He was sporting a pair of black eyes again, and it twisted his young face. A bloody chunk was torn out of his chest, like someone had clawed it out. "Well. Not so much the living and breathing. But really! What a surprise! Is little bro there somewhere? You think he'd be willing to talk for a few minutes?"_

* * *

**_Now_**

Dean narrowed his eyes, mouth tightening, but said nothing to the demon in David's body. Aaron remained silent as well, watching with bated breath.

The angel's messenger was a pretty, petite blonde. She was wearing fatigues from a camp Aaron vaguely recognized. Like Michael had earlier, she stood ramrod straight and formal, each movement precise, a silver blade at her side.

"Dean Winchester. Vessel of Michael. You know why we are here."

"Oh…The party, right?" sarcasm dripped from Michael's voice as he relaxed into a loose stance, and there was the Dean Winchester Aaron had come to know. The hunter tapped his wrist, shaking his head sorrowfully, a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "You're a little late. The keg ran out a few hours ago. Sorry sweetheart."

The angel leaned forward suddenly, teeth bared. "Say it. _Say it, _Say _yes _already. You know how long we've been waiting. We need Michael, you mindless fool! _Say it!_"

"Sheesh. What's up with her?" The demon in David waved a hand, smirking at Dean as he interrupted the impatient angel. He turned black eyes her way. "I think she misses her big brother. Huh, honey? Ya miss your big bro? Want him to come back and play pretty pretty nice nice angel with you again? Pet your wings?"

The angel seemed to compose herself, though her body vibrated with tension. "You lost a father as well," she hissed at him, turning slightly, clearly disgusted with his presence. "Aren't you desperate to find him, demonic filth?"

David's mouth curled up into a smile. He turned back to Dean and Aaron slowly, an eyebrow raised. "All in good time. All in good time."

Aaron glanced behind him, but Sam was still unconscious in the backseat. The demon in David smiled when Aaron turned back to him, waving cheekily. Aaron hefted his sword a little higher and widened his stance, relishing the feeling of his sword in hand, and wondering distantly if the limb would be there when he put it down.

"Give us Sam, Dean. You don't need him." The demon pled with them, voice silky-soft. He took a step towards Dean, who remained unimpressed. "Let's get this shindig over with already. I mean, honestly. I haven't had a beer in what, three decades?"

He turned to the angel. "What about you, tree topper? You getting' bored yet?"

"Enough of this mindless chatter." The blonde angel narrowed her eyes and turned away, gesturing sharply at her garrison. A second later she was behind Aaron, wings fluttering. A knife dug itself into his throat.

Impatient indeed.

A temporary silence fell over the field, both sides watching and waiting eagerly. Dean's body vibrated in Aaron's peripheral vision, grace begging to be let out. Aaron held his breath and waited.

"Say yes, or your companion and Sam will die." The female angel hissed at Dean. The hunter's hand twitched at his side, eyes flicking to Sam's unconscious body. Aaron shifted nervously. The angel's breath was strangely, grotesquely cool against Aaron's neck.

"Lucifer will resurrect the spawn later, but don't think we won't make him _scream _first." The angel growled at Dean. "Perhaps it will loosen your tongue, vessel."

Even as she spoke three angels split off from the group, moving to surround the Impala. Aaron saw Dean's eyes widen and thought _oh no, no, not that, why did you threaten Sam you idiots-_

With a flash of light the angels were thrown backwards, skidding in the dirt as Dean held a hand out. Aaron felt the knife sail harmlessly away from his throat and breathed a little easier.

Thunder cracked and Dean's body lit up with its power, blazing sword in hand. His eyes were a furious white. Story-high wings flashed across the sky, their shadows magnificent and awe-inspiring.

Even the demons looked momentarily cowed.

"Calliel. You dared threaten what is mine." Michael's voice carried across the entire field, larger than life, rolling thunder in itself. His eyes blazed with power, an unforgiving look brought down upon the gathered angels. "You dared threaten me. To kill these mortals, in my name."

"_Michael,_" Calliel the angel breathed, immediately deferent and on her knees, elegant pant suit ripped and dirtied. Her face tilted upwards in joy, and Aaron could see tears in her eyes. Strange, considering he'd never seen an angel show any kind of emotion before. "Michael, brother, where have you be-"

"_Silence._" Michael hissed, sword in hand. Indifference curled across his noble face, as the angels around them knelt as one at the mere suggestion of his anger. The demons looked equally terrified, though the one in David remained stubbornly close to the car.

"I leave for _decades_, not centuries, and this is what happens? Partnering with demons to harm the humans, and manipulate vessels?"

"Brother-"

"Quiet." Michael closed his eyes, the power around his body flaring suddenly. Calliel's mouth shut supernaturally fast. Aaron watched the other man's eyes flicker briefly with power before he opened them again. He caught a flash of green, then the grace's distinct white glow covered it again.

"Calliel. You threatened my brother. I cannot let that go unpunished."

"Your brother—sir?" Calliel looked equal parts terrified and baffled. She frowned. "Sam Winchester is the vessel for Sata—Lucifer. Sir."

"You assume much," Michael said coldly, eyeing her without sympathy. He walked closer to her, sword burning even more coldly. "I am Dean Winchester—and he is me. He has _always_ been me."

"…Sir." Calliel said, her fine shoulders trembling. Aaron felt a similar shock as the knowledge flowed over him. Dean had always been Michael—but how? And if he was, if he had always been an angel, then that meant Sam was—

Michael's eyes faded slightly, taking on that familiar green tone Aaron had come to know. His posture loosened, but he looked even more deadly as he walked across the barren field. Dean's wicked smile curved across his face.

"So, imagine my surprise, Calliel—Callie, can I call you Callie?" Dean said, Michael's voice overlaid with sarcasm. "When you show up not only threatening my companion, and my brother, but _me_?"

Calliel swallowed nervously, though her head tilted slightly in typical angel fashion. Maybe she was trying to process the alarming shift in personality that had just occurred. Aaron sure as hell was.

"I-I didn't know, sir."

The demons snickered, and Dean instantly turned his gaze on them. The demon in David shrunk slightly where he stood, though he didn't waver much. An air of danger overlaid the already tense atmosphere, as if the two sides realized they were standing next to sworn enemies.

"We came for Sam, and we're not leaving without him." The demon in David smirked, shrugging at Dean. "Nice wings, Dean-o, but it's not a deal breaker. Really. We brought enough forces this time. We can fight."

_This time? _Aaron wondered dimly, and remembered century-old art depicting the Archangel, sword in hand in battle against hordes of demons. He took a shrewd look at the demon in David and wondered if it was older than they'd assumed. Maybe Dean knew, though he definitely hadn't told.

Dean hefted his (impressive) sword in hand, giving it an exploratory swing. He locked eyes with David. "Try me."

The angels immediately stood, turning to defend their de facto leader. Dean narrowed his eyes and waved them off.

"Leave. Return to heaven and await revelation. I'll deal with you feather-brained idiots then."

The angels disappeared in shocked flutters, leaving half the field bare. The demons happily filled the gap, eyes locked hungrily on the impala. Aaron tightened his grip on his sword for what felt like the millionth time, heart thudding wildly.

Dean's eyes lit up next to him, a halo of power surrounding him, threading through every vein in his body. His hair was shot through with golden power, a thousand times brighter than any light he'd seen. Aaron felt his breath leave his chest as the Archangel rose to his true height, the shadow of multiple pairs of wings obscuring the sky.

Aaron stood straighter, feeling something like a blessing reverberating through his bones. He looked down at his hands and lifted his sword. It vibrated in his hands, lighter than it should have been.

The demons were a mere twenty feet from them, pulling weapons of their own from invisible pockets.

"Who's like God?" the demon in David shouted from the front of the line, a dark sword in hand. "Huh, Dean? We about to find out?"

Aaron turned to Michael, a questioning look in his eyes. The other man huffed a breath out, a short burst of humor crossing his face.

"It's a joke. I think. Michael means "Who is like God?" translated." Dean shook his head. "He obviously didn't notice the question mark, illiterate asshole."

The tone of that last comment made Aaron swallow a surprised laugh. He positioned himself carefully at Michael's left hand, well out of sword range. With a horrific battle cry, the forces of hell charged them, and Aaron started swinging.

It was a bit like using a machete, Aaron mused. The blade cut into the first demon with little resistance, sliding through to bone with barely a twitch of his hand. Aaron let out a surprised grunt as blood sprayed from the host's artery, quickly sliding the blade out. The demon flashed and shuddered inside the host before imploding, like Aaron had seen Sam do. Within a second he was on the next demon, heaven's blessing singing across his skin.

His blade whispered and spun through the air, taking out three demons with a single swing. He'd never fought like this in his life, but he was enjoying it. Aaron's feet found solid ground with every step, and he danced around the corpses, his sword crashing through those of the demons, cutting through them like butter.

He spotted Dean—Michael—off to his right, sword held high. Lightning crackled down from the sky, and Aaron bit off a laugh as he remembered his old Marvel comics, wondering if the Archangel would take offense to being compared to the thunder god.

Between the two of them, the field was mostly clear in a few moments. The zombies the demons had brought with them, possessed as well, fell even quicker. A small group led by David edged closer to the Impala. Dean continued to fight and, without looking, threw a hand out their way. Aaron watched in shock as a sphere of power appeared over the car, knocking the errant group backwards. Singed flesh scented the air as Aaron sliced into another pair of demons, blade shuddering with the force he'd brought it down with. He yanked it out of the dry earth quickly enough to shove it into the next demon, only to find it stuck again as the demon convulsed on the edge of the blade.

Aaron tugged furiously on the sword but it wouldn't budge. It was probably caught in bone, but Aaron didn't have time to think about the true causes as he tried to desperately release the damn thing. Angelic blade or not, it was still fallible.

Three demons surrounded him, only to be knocked down by Michael's sword, suddenly swinging into his vision. Blood spattered Aaron, and with a muttered curse and gesture from the Archangel, his smaller sword came free.

"Damn things always got stuck," Dean said to him casually, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. It didn't look like it was his. "You should have seen the first war. I looked like a fucking idiot every ten minutes, trying to pull the freaking thing out of every other corpse."

Aaron blinked, momentarily stunned. "…Must have been…tough."

Dean shook his head, a dark smile on his face. With a vault forward he was back in action, and all Aaron could do was follow. He spotted David's body ahead and aimed for the demon, in the back of his head swearing revenge for the poor kid. Michael's presence trailed him, and Aaron felt a mixture of camaraderie and awe with the angel at his back.

"Cease." Michael ordered over his back, eyeing David. The remaining demons surrounded their de jus leader, watching the Archangel carefully. The demon in David sighed dramatically, throwing a hand up to his eyes.

"Dean. _Dean Dean Dean_." The demon chided sarcastically, batting black eyes. He blinked suddenly, tilting his head. "At least, I think I'm talking to Dean now. Dean, you in there? Ready to see what a colossal mistake you just made?"

"Oh, I'm in here." Dean hissed, leaning forward. The sword at his side blazed even brighter, sizzling as it touched the demon blood soaked into the ground. "And I'm going to rip your insolent throat out, demon."

David licked his lips deliberately, smiling. He looked down at his vessel, pulling at the shirt surrounding the gaping hole in his chest. "Eh. I was getting a little bored of this one anyway."

Michael's grin was flecked with blood. "Why don't you leave it, then. I'll even help you out."

"Oh, you're gonna wish you hadn't said that." David's eyes flicked towards the Impala and the shield of energy still surrounding it. He held up a hand and snapped once, the sound echoing over the flat plains. Aaron stopped in his tracks, feeling an eerie vibration against his heart. A second later the ground started shuddering, heaving beneath their feet.

The demons threw their heads skywards as the ground broke open, mouths open. Black, oily smoke flew from their mouths, joining a torrent of demons that flowed from the ground. The stream quickly filled up the sky, blocking out all of Michael's lightning, surrounding the field. Aaron realized too late that the epicenter of the group was the Impala, running forward with a shout Dean's way.

_Sam. _

David's host collapsed with a dead smile transfixed on its face, the demon joining the smoke in the sky last. Michael growled as the smoke began to swirl and held a hand out, but the effort seemed to be too much for him. The smoke shuddered backwards at his touch, but pushed through. The Archangel grunted once, rearing backwards, pain across his face. The grace in his eyes dimmed slightly, and blood ran freely from his nose.

Aaron watched in horror as the smoke in the sky twisted into a spout, digging towards the earth like the dust tornadoes out west. The twister sought out the Impala, leering above it like a snake. Michael shuddered next to him, an inhuman cry ripped from his lips as the protective shell he'd created shattered.

Sam's body was still slumped across the seats. Aaron bit down on his lip to keep from screaming as the smoke invaded the car, pushing into the younger hunter's mouth through every window. Sam's body snapped into consciousness, eyes a horrific, panicked yellow, catching Dean's gaze instantly. Something burned red-hot against his shirt, blackening the fabric and sending the scent of human flesh into the air.

Horror was all Aaron could use to describe the look on Sam's face. He looked at Dean like his whole world was ending, his eyes still that terrible yellow, that pleading, disgusted look in his eyes-

Sam's body jerked violently, only to crumple as the demons continued to pour in and in and in. The entire sky had been full of them earlier. There had to be hundreds of them. Millions. Oh _God. _

After the longest moment of Aaron's life, the smoke disappeared. Sam's body fell limply to the car floor, knocking the door open. Aaron watched the familiar flannel and lanky limbs tumble to the dirt and felt bile rise up in his throat. He couldn't bear to turn to Michael, knowing, intrinsically, all was lost. They had failed.

Sam's mouth twitched minutely. After a moment he blinked his eyes open, staring unseeingly at the sky. Aaron groaned in pain as a shockwave of power crashed across the field, digging like a dagger into his stomach. He crumpled to his knees, seeing Michael wince to his right, though the other man remained steady.

Sam's eyes were a midnight sky, thrown into the deep deep crevices of space, so terribly dark Aaron couldn't find a word to accurately describe them in that moment. A thousand times darker than a normal demon's, it was like staring into nothing. A deep, dark void. The hunter stood in one fluid movement, turning to face Michael. Power radiated from him.

Aaron finally let himself look at the Archangel, fearing what he would find there. Dean's face was like stone. He said nothing. The blade at his side was dampened, no flames or fire licking at the polished metal.

"I told you." Sam's voice echoed across the field, a whispered shout. His body shook suddenly with restrained laughter, and every chuckle dug into Aaron like a knife. "The mighty Michael. You didn't recognize me, brother."

"Belial." Michael whispered. He stared at the demon (demons?), barely moving. "You fell with Lucifer."

"_Now _he recognizes me!" Sam's features curved up into a smile, and he swung a hand out, flexing the hunter's fingers. "I have to say, having most of hell in your brother was a big bet. We didn't know if we'd all fit, you know? But he's a big guy. Has to be, to fit Lucifer."

"Which will never happen," Michael said coldly, grabbing his sword and lighting it with renewed flame. "Leave him, Belial, before I make you wish for something as heavenly as pain."

Sam's shoulders shrugged, his face curving into a smile. "Sorry Dean-o. Gotta keep the body warm for the real heavyweight. Nice seeing you."

With a snap Sam disappeared, leaving behind the scent of ozone. Thunder cracked again above their heads, but this time rain started pouring down. Torrents and torrents of it. Aaron hadn't seen this much rain since he was a child, but the moment was lost on him. He ducked off to the side and released the contents of his stomach onto the dry, patchy grass, mouth filled with bile and blood as he heaved.

Michael's sword fell to the grass in his peripheral vision. Dean's knees hit the ground before Aaron could catch him, a pained grunt escaping his lips. When Aaron looked up the man had a hand in his hair, eyes full of tears. No grace or power. Just a terrible, human pain.

Dirty, on his knees in the mud, without a thought he grabbed at the hunter's shoulder, pulling him close.

The younger man buried his head in Aaron's chest. Blood flecked his hair, across his face, but he was a grayed-out version of his other self. Dean shook, and stifled the cries of a broken man against his shirt as Aaron's own tears ran freely.

They'd lost Sam.

* * *

**A/N** More to come soon! Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** Sorry for the long wait. Here's a longer update! I hope you enjoy a couple of the surprises below…

* * *

Castiel sensed ripples of discord down in heaven, but ignored them in favor of picking at the scabs forming around his wrists.

The healing rate seemed to be speeding up, and the broken, bloody skin there healed like it hadn't since heaven first fell. He wondered briefly if it had something to do with the commotion he was sensing miles away in heaven, before going back to picking around the shackles and staring forlornly at the sky.

It had been a few decades, for sure, since he'd been held prisoner in heaven's finest jail. A clifftop hole reminiscent of Prometheus' mythic struggle, though Castiel warded off any and all curious birds with a burst of grace or two. He didn't have enough to escape the warded manacles, but the flare of energy kept most pests away.

Heaven didn't quiet down like it usually did after evening, and Castiel stayed dutifully awake to watch. Most days he slept away the visions of the apocalypse he saw in the influx of prayers passing by his dreams. Tonight he kept awake, something ancient within him waking, nosing at the curiosity he'd once been famous for.

"Brother! Castiel!"

Castiel turned at the familiar, hoarse voice. Gadreel sat a half mile away, shackled into a familiar prison. They didn't talk much. In fact, this was only the third time they'd spoken aloud, now that he thought about it.

"Gadreel." He acknowledged, dipping his head as far as the chain around his sternum allowed him. He was gracious, after all, that they'd left him within clear sight of heaven's glorious valleys. "What pains you, brother?"

"I have heard news," Gadreel said, voice serious. His face twisted in pain as he struggled against his chains, like Castiel hadn't bothered in more than a decade. "The birds have whispered it to me. The winds speak of it. Can you not hear it, brother? Michael has returned."

Castiel stared at him in shock. "Michael."

"Aye. That is what our brethren are speaking about. Apparently our brother has bid them return to heaven without him."

Castiel pondered this. "Did they say where Michael had been?"

"No."

Why now? Castiel thought. Michael had been gone for ages, it seemed. Castiel had only been imprisoned for a few decades, as long as the would-be apocalypse on earth, but he had been created after the older angels' disappearance. Perhaps Gadreel had known him.

"Does Michael listen to prayers, brother?"

Gadreel turned his head slightly, his profile catching the setting sun. "Always. Until the Fall, at least. He used to. I believe it pained him, afterwards."

Castiel tilted his head back, feeling heaven's winds urging him on, sweeping his vessel's hair around his face. Sam and Dean were still asleep on earth, as far as he could tell. He'd been searching for an escape route for ages, or at least some way to contact them. Could now be his one chance? Castiel decided to find that out for himself.

_Michael. If you can hear me…My name is Castiel. I am guardian of Dean and Sam Winchester, your vessel and your brother's vessel. _He swallowed painfully, hoping the pair was still safe. They had to be. _I bid to seek protection for them. _

It didn't take long for a tendril of grace to curl around his prayer. Castiel's eyes widened as the chains around him began to vibrate, glowing with power.

**_Castiel_**_. _

Castiel let out a gasp as his chains fell away. A second later heaven disappeared, and warm grass was beneath his bare feet.

He toppled to the ground, stunned by the sudden movement. Someone grabbed his arm, steadying him.

"Easy there, fella." A pleasant voice sounded above him. Castiel looked into a kind, older man's face, and then turned towards the second figure. Dean Winchester smiled grimly at him, covered in blood. A sword was at his side.

"Heya, Cas."

* * *

Aaron watched Dean pace around for a good ten minutes, slowly coming to terms with what had just happened on the battlefield. The man had allowed himself one moment of weakness, sobbing in Aaron's arms, before getting to his feet and planning. And boy, did the kid plan. It was nothing but admirable.

Words and names came out of his mouth that Aaron couldn't even comprehend, much less follow. Something about _Lucifer_ and _Detroit_ was all he could pick out. Dean kept pacing, Michael's knowledge flowing out of his mouth, Dean's anger in his eyes.

Suddenly he stopped, head tilting towards the sky like he'd heard something. The sword at his side twitched, flame beginning to lick at the metal. Then he smiled.

"_Castiel_."

Aaron took a startled step back as a man suddenly appeared in front of him, covered in rags and dripping blood. Instinct took over and he grabbed the man's arm before he toppled over, marveling at the man's weight as he fell, light as a feather, into his arms.

"Easy there, fella."

Aaron looked over to Dean, startled, but the other man was watching their new visitor with a shrewd look.

"Heya, Cas."

"_Dean._" The man gasped, kneeling on the grass. He had dark black hair and a pair of sorrowful blue eyes. Aaron was enchanted. Perhaps it was no man after all. "What—I…Michael?"

Dean smirked slightly, though the gesture seemed flat. "I know, I know. Double vision. Give it a second."

_Castiel _didn't seem to enjoy his tone at all, and wrestled out of Aaron's hold. Only then Aaron noticed he still had his hand back, though it seemed pointless to marvel over it now. "Get out of Dean Winchester. Now!" The angel held his shredded hands out like he was going to fight Dean. It was pitiful.

"I _am _Dean Winchester. And I am Michael." Dean said it plainly, but the implicit order in his words rang true. He looked down at Castiel. "I have always been Michael. I just didn't know for a while. I didn't know, Cas."

Aaron gently ushered Castiel back towards the ground, looking over his injuries before sending Dean a glance. Dean leaned over and pressed a finger to the man's head. A second later the blood and cuts disappeared, flowing back into themselves like Sam's bruises had, what seemed like years ago. Aaron wondered briefly about Dean's earlier healing powers, and how they reflected Michael's own powers now. It was an interesting thought, for sure.

"…thank you." Castiel said, moving to stand up. He looked stronger than before, even though he wore the same rags. "You—you heard my prayer—sir—and knew where I was."

"Call me Dean. Really." Dean said, looking mildly uncomfortable with the title. "And yes. I knew where you were. I found out the second your prayer hit me. The angels know their orders now. They won't be interfering until it's time to find Lucifer."

"_Lucifer._" Castiel breathed, turning around. He seemed to be looking for someone. "Where is Sam?"

Aaron choked on air for a second, while Dean's face became even more grim. "Sam was…taken from us. Cas, there's a lot of shit we didn't tell you. Maybe we need to start from the beginning. Or, at least, I do." He looked over at Aaron, then to Castiel.

"Cas, this is Aaron. He's a hunter we picked up a few days ago. Aaron, this is Castiel, the angel who helped lock us up in that room you found us in."

Aaron put his hand forward, and watched as Castiel stared at it. A second later he seemed to get the idea, and shook it gently. "Nice to meet you."

"It is an honor." Castiel said serenely, blue eyes endlessly deep. He seemed very fitting for Michael's second in command…much more than some random human. Aaron shook off the jealous thoughts and mentally told himself to get his head in the game.

"We'll tell you everything in the car." Dean said, moving towards where the Impala still sat, football fields away. Where Sam had been taken from. "We need to get to Detroit. And then I'm gonna go have a nice chat with all your brethren, Castiel."

The look on his face made even Aaron shiver a little.

* * *

Sam was nothing. He was pieces of a consciousness, floating around, too broken, moving too quickly to intersect. Every now and then he'd catch the edge of a thought, or a spark of something. The darkness around him would swirl, then, and suddenly he'd forget. He knew nothing but his own name. Sam. Sam-I-Am. _Sammy_.

Who called him _Sammy_? He didn't know. But something was pushing against him to forget, to let go, so he did. It didn't matter. Sam didn't matter.

Why didn't Sam matter? Sam mattered to someone, surely. _And don't call me Shirley. _Someone had said that to him once. The same person who called him _Sammy. _Sam liked _Sammy. _He wanted to go back to that. The next time the darkness swirled to take that thought away, he held onto it. _Sammy, Sammy, Sammysammysammysammy—_

**Sam**.

…He didn't know that voice at all, but it sounded familiar. Something within _Sam _knew that voice. _Sammy _didn't like it at all. He shrank away, but the darkness pushed him towards the voice. No no no, he didn't want to go near it-

Something closed over him, like ghostly hands picking up the remnants of Sam. He felt shock and pain from the voice as they touched, as if it hadn't been expecting something. A second later he felt the pain like it was his own.

Suddenly the voice was intermingled with his. A whirlwind of _Sam _**Sam **_Sam __**Sam-**_

Sam shuddered awake, gasping for breath. The first thing he realized was that he was on a bed. There were shackles on his arms, but he disintegrated them with a thought. The usage of grace made his head hurt, like reverb from a speaker. Wait—grace? He winced at the pain, but it settled after a second. His racing heart didn't. Where was he—_who—_

The last thread between the two halves of **_Sam _**was finally woven. Sam jerked on the bed as something within him merged—ancient anger mixing with a very human empathy. He saw his brother's face, nameless. His brother.

Belial opened the door. Sam knew this because his thoughts trailed into the room behind him, oily and slithering into the bedroom. Sam—Lucifer—composed himself, keeping secret what he'd learned and planned in that second. He had a feeling the fallen angel would disagree.

"Michael is mustering his forces, my lord." Belial announced. Sam remained motionless. "He is approaching Detroit, as the prophecy says."

Sam sat up, a slow smile curving across his face. He let a little grace flare behind his eyes for show.

"Then why don't we meet him there?"

* * *

Aaron sat in the back with Castiel, neither of them comfortable enough to take Sam's seat in the front of the Impala. Instead Michael's sword rested there, looking sad and beautiful against the leather seats, never mind the juxtaposition.

Dean drove like a man with a mission, which he was, taking corners at speeds that should have been impossible. Aaron counted the times they should have flown off the road, but Dean kept their wheels firmly planted on the asphalt. He talked rapid fire the entire way to Castiel.

"The angels aren't going to _listen _to logic. They're too far gone." Dean turned to look at Castiel, the Impala taking over as he let go of the steering wheel. "I need an army, not a confused group of butt-hurt feather bags!"

Aaron neglected to mention that, technically, Dean _was _a "butt-hurt feather bag". Castiel appeared to come across the same thought, clearing his throat loudly.

"I am not suggesting that you merely talk with them. But you need to offer them hope when you make your claim." He said. "They will fight harder, and braver."

Dean shrugged, turning back to the wheel. Aaron looked out at the scenery, passing by too quickly for his tastes, and swallowed around an uneasy stomach.

"You're right. I'll admit they need an incentive…" Dean's voice deepened a little, and Aaron shrank back. "No. I won't play to their childish wishes. I am eldest."

"Maybe you could end the apocalypse?" Aaron threw it out there. "They'd like that, wouldn't they?"

Castiel frowned. "It is my understanding that they wish to bring out the apocalypse as a boon for our Father to return. I was imprisoned for not agreeing, and for helping you disappear."

Dean sighed dramatically, putting his head in his hands. Michael's voice had gone. "Of course they believe that."

"They are lost, and need guidance." Castiel said softly. "Perhaps that is all you need to give."

Dean seemed to think about this. After a moment he turned to Castiel.

"Keep us on track to Detroit. I'll be back soon."

_Why Detroit? _Aaron wanted to ask. The two of them seemed to accept the destination without question, like it was predetermined, even though Aaron couldn't see any of this as being planned.

Dean rolled his shoulders once, grabbed his sword from the passenger seat, and turned to Aaron.

"You want to go to heaven?"

* * *

One second Aaron was in the car holding Dean's hand, and the next he was standing on a flat field, a small farmhouse in the distance. It looked oddly familiar, which made no sense considering this was heaven. _The _heaven. Where were the clouds and golden rays of sunshine pouring down?

Dean looked ephemeral in the light, but somehow even more defined, more real. He strode confidently through the grass, not waiting for Aaron to follow. His sword trailed through the flowers and wild ferns absentmindedly, leaving a gold trail in his wake.

"Calliel. Brethren. Show yourselves." Michael called out, voice ringing across the plain. With a rustle of wings, multiplied tenfold, all of heaven seemed to gather in an instant. Crowds and crowds of motionless people stood in the grass, wearing suits and skirts. Emotion broke across some of the faces as they saw their beloved commander.

"Michael!"

"Brother!"

"You've returned!"

"Where is our Heavenly Father, brother?"

Dean's irritation was plain to see as he put a hand up, silencing their cries. He looked down across their faces, gaze sharp and commanding.

"You know the Apocalypse is rolling on as planned, mostly because you idiots planned it." Aaron winced. Because _that _definitely sounded like guidance.

Dean continued.

"Well, it's coming down to the final battle soon. If you did your homework, you know the_ who what when_ and _why's_ of it. You know that I will have to fight my brother. Your brother as well."

A hush fell over the gathered angels at his words. Aaron watched as Calliel, in the front, knelt calmly in the ferns. Even they could sense the sorrow in Dean's voice as the man trailed off.

"…Michael, brother." The angel looked up at him, reverent. "Whatever you need, you shall have from us."

Dean looked momentarily surprised, but hid it well. "And your earlier words about harming my brother?"

"I see your pain, Michael. We all do. We would not harm something you wish to keep safe. I—we—are sorry." Calliel said softly.

One by one the angels knelt, falling to their knees in the endlessly wide field. Aaron suddenly recognized it. It looked like the house he'd found Sam and Dean in—just so different. It was clean, there weren't scrap cars or rusts hunks of metal piled up anywhere. It was free and open. It was beautiful, really.

Michael looked out at the army of angels and nodded once. To Calliel he pointed.

"Surround Detroit but do not approach. Wait for my orders."

Aaron started as the other man walked away suddenly, trying in vain to keep up with the taller man. Suddenly Dean stopped, turning to face the still-kneeling angels.

"And…and thank you." Dean smiled, and it was like sunshine had broken across the plain all over again. "Thank you, brothers and sisters."

Suddenly a hand grabbed his, and Aaron was whisked away again.

* * *

Sam was bored. Okay, Sam wasn't really bored. Sam was equal parts terrified and conniving. He had a plan up his sleeve that nobody knew about. He was also putting on the best show of his life, and balancing the two was harder than it looked. He should get some kind of award.

"Belial, how many forces do we have around Detroit?" Sam lounged further into the throne, wrinkling his nose mentally as his hand touched something sticks under the armrest. Really? He'd been into blood and torture before? It had its perks, even the new Lucifer could admit that (it was what he'd taken to calling himself in his head, if only to stay sane) but _really? _

It was worse than finding gum under a table or something. There was a patch of milky white stuff on the other armrest that Sam refused to go near. Gross.

"Sixty divisions, three with additional forces backing them, my lord." Belial said smoothly, looking suave and evil in his three piece cobalt suit. "They are awaiting your orders. Michael's forces remain where they initially appeared. No movement, sir."

"Hmm." Sam said, playing absently with the hem of his shirt. His very _white _shirt. White, really? What had he been thinking? How in the hell was he going to be able to lounge around on his throne of blood and gross bodily fluids and then stand up without looking like a fool? He had been an idiot for millennia, it appeared. _Michael_ had better taste, for Father's sake! "Keep them where they're at for now. I want to see what Michael does."

"Of course, my lord." Belial smiled, and Sam felt the distant urge to just implode the oily, sketchy bastard. He was wearing some child molester as a meat suit anyway. The urge for blood died down, and Sam-Lucifer-calmed that other side of himself. "Do you wish anything else, sir?"

"Send in a lackey, please." Sam waved a hand, already turning away from the demon. Belial bowed and left the room. A moment later some other demon walked in. He was wearing a convicted murderer, his senses told him. Sam gestured once, beckoning him onto the throne. Meanwhile he was reciting the spell over and over in his head, reaching into nothingness and pulling out a flask.

The demon saw and bared his throat instantly, knowing what Sam needed. Mentally Sam recoiled, wondering why he'd ever drunk the stuff in the first place. It tasted like ass.

"My lord." The demon said, throat still bared. Sam smiled falsely and slashed with his hand, cutting open the demon without a knife. The blood, controlled by his powers, flowed straight into the flask. A moment later the body dropped to the floor, empty. _Good riddance, _he thought.

Sam gathered the flask, wiping a spot of blood off his white dress pants, and wondered vaguely how he was going to tell his brother about all of this.

* * *

Aaron recognized Detroit only because he'd been there once, before the Apocalypse. The buildings themselves were in shambles, rusty and falling in on themselves. Burns still adorned some of them, evidence of some of the original fighting that had gone on, years ago. Aaron felt a chill as he stepped onto the blackened earth, already missing heaven's peaceful grassy plains.

"Stay here while I get Cas." Dean said to him, brisk. "Your sword is with you. Don't lose it."

_With me? _Aaron asked mentally, turning towards the other man, but he was faced with an empty spot of burned grass. Aaron sighed and trudged forward, trying to find his damn sword, since apparently he had it with him somehow. Suddenly a pair of zombies appeared at the mouth of the two buildings he was standing between.

Aaron suddenly tried a whole lot harder to find the damn sword. His hands scrabbled at his waist, only to find cloth and not much else. He backed up against the wall behind him, looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon. His hands hit something metallic and he grabbed it instantly, feeling a familiar hilt. _Oh, look, _he thought, _There it is. _

The zombies stood no chance. A moment after their heads finally stopped rolling, Dean appeared with Castiel. The Impala was behind them, sleek as ever in the fading sun.

"The angels have the town surrounded. However, so do the demons." Dean said, striding forward with his sword hefted over his shoulder. He looked more ready to go to a baseball game than to fight a holy war, but Aaron had seen how quickly his visage changed in battle. "We need to find Sam, before it all blows up."

Castiel peered into the sky, frowning slightly. "They will gather at the center, as it was prophesized."

"I didn't read the whole damn prophecy," Dean muttered, mostly to Aaron. He looked a little sheepish. "I was honestly hoping the whole thing was a joke."

Aaron nodded slowly. Maybe Michael was more like Dean Winchester than he'd originally thought. "Well, let's get moving then. Anyone know where the center is?"

"Sure. Perks of being an angel." Dean reached out and touched both of their foreheads, and suddenly they were standing somewhere else.

Sam stood before them, almost three hundred feet away. Aaron looked around and surmised that they were gathered in a crater of some long-demolished building, surrounded by debris. Ahead of him Sam was dressed immaculately in white, at his left a demon in pure black. Behind him stood a legion of demons. Aaron swallowed compulsively, knowing the angels had their backs. They could do this.

But. Sam. Oh, it hurt him to look at the poor kid. He knew it hurt Dean even more. Sam smiled as he saw them, tilting his head, and the look sent pure terror down Aaron's spine. _Lucifer. _That was the devil in that poor boy.

"Brother." Sam said, voice ringing out across the fallen battlefield like Dean's had earlier. Deep power followed it, like a distant echo. "I see you brought friends."

"So did you." Dean said, gritting his teeth. Aaron saw pure pain in his eyes, but beyond that an infinite anger. Aaron actually took a step back from the man, feeling heat singe his clothing as the angel grew brighter and brighter. "_Brother._"

Sam gestured to the demon at his left, sending him somewhere behind him. The demons murmured between themselves as Sam—_Lucifer_—slipped a flask out of his sleeve, and into his hand. Dean hissed next to Aaron as the devil opened it, revealing a red liquid. Blood.

With a wink towards Dean, the devil tossed it back. Aaron watched curiously, feeling something vibrate through the air. Lucifer coughed once, then threw a hand out behind him, shouting ancient words that slipped from Aaron's mind the second he heard them. They were powerful, though, he could tell. Very powerful.

A second later the hordes of demons collapsed, shuddering in their hosts. Even the head honcho Lucifer had been talking to fell, crying out. They twisted and jerked in the dirt. Lucifer, pristine white suit and all, turned and-sprinted towards them?

"Run, you idiots!" Sam's voice yelled out. Dean shook his head once, as if in a daze, but heeded his warning. Castiel grabbed Aaron's shoulder and they both ran together. Lucifer sprinted alongside Michael as a deafening roar wound up behind them.

Aaron felt himself hit something hard and looked up into Sam's eyes, instinctively grabbing onto the man's lapels before everything went black.

* * *

**A/N **Uh oh. Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought! More soon, this time I promise.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N Hello! Here's the next chapter a little early. My dog was sick, so I decided to write three chapters for this week. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Aaron woke on top of something firm. It was also moving. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his head, but it was no good. Blind and disoriented, as he seemed to be 24/7 these days, he stumbled backwards before tripping over his own feet and falling on his ass.

"Easy," a familiar voice said, sending tingles of déjà vu down his spine. A hand gripped his, pulling him to his feet. "Aaron, you okay?"

Aaron tried _really _hard to clear his vision this time, and after a few seconds of squinting a face swam into being above him. Floppy brown hair, hazel eyes…a white suit?

"Sam?"

Sam smiled, white teeth blinding against his tanned skin. "Hey Aaron. Glad to see you're still alive."

Aaron blinked again. "But…Lucifer…"

"I'll explain in a minute," Sam said, "But I'm Sam. I've always been Sam. Now I'm just…a little different. But I promise you, I don't want to harm anyone."

For some strange reason Aaron believed him, right then and there. He was opening his mouth to say something when Michael's sword spun into his vision, catching Sam at the throat and sending him sprawling into the dirt.

Dean stood over his brother, sword in hand, with a vicious glare on his face. He dug the blade into Sam's throat, drawing blood. "Explain yourself."

"Ouch," Sam muttered to himself, along with something that sounded like _–always giving pointy things to the mentally insane Archangel… _"Well. Surprise! I'm not dead. That's a bonus."

"What did you do with Sam?" Dean hissed, digging the blade perhaps unconsciously further into the man's neck. Sam reached up and grabbed the blade, cutting his own fingers as he pushed it back.

"I _am _Sam, you idiot!"

Dean's face went stone-still. "Prove it."

"Jerk."

Something loosened inside Dean right then and there, Aaron could tell. He took a step backwards but didn't try to help his brother up. Sam lay there fairly casually, looking for all intents and purposes as if he wanted to be modeling a white suit, covered in blood and dirt. Aaron stared at him, feeling drawn to his features suddenly. The curve of his leg…

"Take a step back, Aaron." Castiel said behind him, surprising him. Aaron coughed and stumbled back a step, breaking whatever spell had just come over him.

"You were saying…" Dean started, still holding his sword. Sam swallowed, looking briefly up at the sky.

"I did the same thing you did with our vessels. Apparently, it runs in the family." Sam began cryptically. "Sam wasn't a vessel…he was an extension of me. One that was sent here long before I was released. Dean was exactly the same, no?"

Dean nodded, shifting a little in his boots. The action was awkwardly human, Aaron observed.

"How did you get in without permission?"

Sam shrugged. "Considering you let me get possessed by the entirety of hell, I think it was more of a majority overrule sort of situation. I was pieces before. I just waltzed in through the gaping hole that possession left in Sam…but there was a surprise waiting." He looked up at the sky, muttering. "There's always a surprise waiting."

"So…what happened then? What was it like?' Aaron asked. Dean was more reticent about the Michael-Dean thing than Sam was, it seemed, and he was mildly curious. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes and no," Sam said, and the second those kaleidoscope eyes hit his Aaron had to take another step back, feeling something warm and comforting wrapping around him. Pulling him towards the other man. "It's like breaking into a house, only to get caught by yourself. A very different version of yourself, but it's still you."

Aaron looked towards Dean and found the man nodding along, agreeing silently with what Sam was saying.

"So then…can we speak to Sam?" Aaron ventured, feeling weak and pathetic but also daring, feeling arousal running through his veins. Strange, that was a weird feeling…

"I am Sam," Sam repeated for what felt like the millionth time. "I don't know how to explain it any better. Maybe Dean can. When you meet your other half, you sort of…meld. I mean, you can still have distinct personality traits that pop up every now and then…" he looked up at Dean, waggling an eyebrow. "But you balance each other out. Case in point: I no longer want to rule Hell for all of eternity to spite Dad. _Sam _no longer feels the urge to drink demon blood, which is good, considering that shit is nasty."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "It looked like you were tossing back a couple shots of it before."

"Which brings me to my next explanation," Sam shifted in the dirt, and Aaron felt his heart beat a little faster. "That was a spell, and you owe me big time for it, big brother. I just trapped all of Hell in their meat suits. Permanently."

"Permanently." Castiel said, moving to stand in front of Aaron. "How is it possible?"

"Well, who do you think created them?" Sam questioned, leaning back a little. He looked like he was laying across the comfiest couch on earth, but there was painful uncertainty in his eyes. Maybe even fear. "If I had all my juice back I could have killed them all, or at least sent them back to Hell, but I'm still working things out."

"…I am too." Dean said, breaking his silence. He looked down at Sam, then at his sword, and dropped the latter. It fell towards the ground, only to fade into nonexistence.

He offered his hand to Sam, who took it after a second of calculation. He turned as if to walk away, and Aaron saw Sam's bravado falter a little, turning him from alluring leader to little brother in nanoseconds.

Dean immediately turned and embraced his brother, wrapping his arms around Sam. The devil tucked his face into Dean's shoulder, both of them breathing heavily. Aaron felt tears prick his eyes and couldn't bother to wipe them away. They hugged and hugged and it brought them no closer together, but something ancient and enduring had just been resolved, Aaron could tell. Years and years of discord and longing, and only a few hours' worth as well, were long gone.

"I'm sorry." Dean said softly, so quiet Aaron barely caught it. He ran a hand through Sam's hair, laughing gently. "This double vision is killing me."

"Me too." Sam smiled, lifting his head up from his brother's shoulder. "I feel like I just saw you…and that I haven't seen you in millennia."

Another long silence followed, and Aaron felt a soft tug on his sleeve.

"Come, Aaron. We should allow them time to reconnoiter." Castiel said, leading him a few paces away. Aaron smiled at the still-embracing pair and followed.

They stopped a few dozen feet away, far enough that they could no longer hear what the pair was saying to each other. Castiel sat against a small rock, looking out across the far from idyllic countryside around them.

"Where are we?" Aaron asked, realizing he hadn't before. The last thing he'd remembered was running with Sam…then falling.

"Lucifer and Michael attempted to transport us as far away from Detroit as possible very quickly." Castiel said, nudging his toe against a rock. "Perhaps it is why you fainted. They had to expend a lot of power together and they were not as resolved as they are now. But Michael still trusted his brother, and it seemed it was good he did."

The man talked in archaic riddles, it seemed. Strange how the oldest angels, Michael and Lucifer, talked more like Aaron did than this…foot soldier? It seemed to be what Castiel was. Aaron shrugged and found a seat of his own.

"Aaron," Castiel said after a moment. "Lucifer—Sam—is still attempting to rein in his powers. Michael had time, he told me, because he slipped in before I sealed Sam and Dean Winchester into Robert Singer's house. However, the reason you are feeling such…attraction…towards him, is not unusual." The angel coughed awkwardly, looking away. "He was the original tempter, even before the Fall. But you would be wise to…_control _yourself around him. Don't get too close."

Aaron frowned, trying to figure out what he meant, and glanced down surreptitiously. His eyes bugged out at what he saw in his lap, and finally gathered what Castiel had meant. He blushed furiously. Well, that was the first time in decades _that _had been a problem.

"As I said, it is nothing to be ashamed of. You are the only human here, however. We are angels, and henceforth immune." Castiel was trying to be sympathetic, it appeared, and Aaron appreciated the gesture. It wasn't working. "But let me tell you that L-Sam is working very hard to keep you from being embarrassed. He is more embarrassed than yourself, actually."

Now that sounded like the Sam that Aaron knew for sure. Aaron grunted and shifted awkwardly in his pants, looking anywhere but down. After a few moments Sam and Dean walked over towards them, Sam staying back a few paces, sending a sheepish smile towards Aaron.

"Castiel," Dean said, the name ringing out formally. His eyes were an extraordinary shade of green, rimmed with red like he'd been crying, not that anyone would ever mention it. "Sam and I have a proposition for you."

Castiel stood up quickly, inclining his head. "Sir,"

"Consider us both your commanders at this point," Dean affirmed, glancing back at Sam, then to the smaller angel. "Is working with Samael going to be a problem, seraph?"

_Samael? _Aaron thought, rolling the name around. It sounded familiar.

"No," Castiel said loudly, inclining his head towards Sam, who nodded back with a smile. "What is it you wish?"

Sam took a step forward, staying a careful distance from Aaron. "Castiel, we want you to be our vassal. Speak with the angels still gathered around Detroit. We will need reports on their status if we wish to pursue the demons, which must be soon."

Castiel nodded. "But, sirs-"

"Your powers." Dean finished his sentence, glancing back at Sam. "We know. If you want to join us—for eternity—we are willing to forge a connection to Heaven for you. There is no other way around such a contract."

"Call it dual parenting," Sam said humorously, winking at Aaron. His eyes were a little red too. Aaron kept his blush to a minimum this time, enjoying how free and happy Sam looked now. Not bogged down by whatever had been haunting his human incarnation. "Castiel, this is a once in a lifetime deal. I wouldn't say no."

"But you always can," Dean finished. They both looked shrewdly down at Castiel. The smaller angel seemed to ponder this, then nodded.

"I see no fault in taking this deal. How do we proceed?"

Sam traded glances with Dean, then broke into a smile. "Just stand there, Castiel."

They both grabbed a hand from the seraph and closed their eyes. Sam was still smiling faintly, while Dean had a look of utter concentration on his face. A second later a bright light grew between them, in the crooks of their palms and behind their eyelids. Castiel shuddered once, biting down on a scream, and then everything was normal once again.

Sam took a step back first, opening his eyes to surmise what had changed. Dean blinked awake a second later and joined him in surveying Castiel.

The angel looked completely different, and that was all Aaron could comprehend at that point. His hair was darker and shinier, his eyes a million time bluer, more ancient. For all the pride and honor he'd had before, now, Aaron thought, he looked like a true warrior of heaven. A casual trench coat settled around his shoulders, and Sam smiled as he let it finish the angel's transformation.

Castiel looked down once at his hands, then up to the two Archangels. He knelt immediately, head bowed almost to the ground.

"Sheesh, enough of that," Dean waved him up, but he looked mighty pleased with himself. "You got work to do, buddy. Can't do it with grass stains on your knees, if you know what I mean."

"Thank you," Castiel said, shuddering with emotion, ignoring the crude humor or perhaps just not understanding it. He looked up at Sam. "To both of you. I owe you everything."

Sam nodded once, serene. "Go find the other angels, Castiel. Tell them to gather their forces again, but to await orders."

Castiel nodded and, with a flutter of wings, disappeared. Dean immediately cracked up, pounding Sam on the shoulder.

"I can't believe you still remember how to bootleg Heaven," the Archangel said, choking out the words between chuckled. Sam looked extraordinarily pleased, glancing at his brother. "I was gonna give him some backup juice I had in Israel, but _no. _You had to show off! How'd you even remember where everything was?"

"I had a long time to think about things," Sam said quietly, still smiling, but something in Dean froze. The other man stopped laughing and straightened, looking at his brother fiercely. Sam smiled and nodded once, and Dean clapped a hand across his back, drawing his brother closer to him.

"Aaron. How you doing, man?"

Aaron smiled at Dean, standing quickly. He was eternally thankful that his flannel was long in the front. "Good, good. Things seem to be coming together well."

"We'll see." Dean said, glancing at Sam, still under his shoulder. "We've got a helluva lot of demons left to kill. You in?"

Aaron thought about his sword and smiled. He could think about doing that again.

"You bet your ass I am."

* * *

"Belial won't be happy with what I did. With the spell he's down almost his entire army, but I put a little spin on it so he's trapped too. Technically he shouldn't be, considering he fell and I didn't create him, but I threw something extra in there because he's a dick and I don't like him."

"Valid reasons." Dean said, nodding at Sam. "So now…?"

Sam glanced at Aaron. "Now we choose a venue. Belial's probably gonna drag us to Lawrence-" Dean shuddered once. "—I know, I know. But it's biblical and foretold and all that shit. He's going to be nervous, though. He'll also have a couple tricks up his sleeves, because of that."

"Like what?"

Sam sighed. "Well, it wasn't a mistake that we made Castiel vassal right now. You have defectors, Dean. Not everyone was happy with your little speech up in Heaven. They still want the apocalypse and they still want the heavy-hitter fight."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking enormously frustrated. "All this "_we'll bring Father back if we just fuck around with the Earth long enough" _shit is getting on my nerves. Getting on my _nerves_, Sammy."

"I know. So we need to plan for having a bunch of rogue angels present as well. Belial will plan something big, something we probably won't be able to account for."

"So it's like walking into a trap, then." Aaron said plaintively, looking at both of the Archangels. "I mean, if we can't plan for anything they might bring, what's the point in going?"

Sam looked at Dean, who said nothing. "I guess, because it always had to be us. It always had to be Lawrence, somehow. I don't know why, but it did."

Dean nodded along after a second, seemingly in a daze. Aaron didn't like the look on his face.

"You're scared," Sam said suddenly, looking at Aaron. "Why?"

"I'm not scared," Aaron said quickly.

Sam smiled and shook his head. "Perks of being the devil. I can tell. So why?"

"I don't like it. I don't know why." Aaron looked down at the ground, digging in the dirt with his boot heel. "Something's not right."

Both of the angels seemed to accept this, but Aaron had a feeling they were going to proceed anyway. Sam leaned back, having changed into flannel and jeans earlier, and free to do such in the dirt. "I don't like it either. But something tells me we have to." He looked at Dean. "You know?"

Dean nodded once, shifting closer to his brother. "I know."

"So we leave for Lawrence in the morning." Sam said, looking at Aaron. "We'll call Castiel before we go, get a status report. Then Dean'll send out a couple of orders and we'll see where it goes from there."

Dean put his head in his hands. "That sounds like the stupidest plan I've ever heard of."

"Yeah, but you get to kick in a couple demon skulls," Sam said, licking his lips. He wiggled an eyebrow at Aaron. "At least, that's what I'm excited about. I hate all of those little fuckers."

"You _created _them!"

Sam screwed up his face. "Even AC/DC made some questionable shit, once upon a time."

Dean tried to smack him, but Sam evaded his hand. "Don't you _dare _bring AC/DC into this-"

* * *

They bedded down in the Impala, reminiscent of the first time Aaron had seen Michael. Well, Aaron bedded down there. It didn't seem like Dean or Sam needed to sleep, so they laid down near the fire they'd created earlier, chatting quietly as it faded to embers. Aaron let the brothers be brothers and grabbed his blanket, grateful that the backseat was as big as it was. He had a good vantage point of the fire and the night sky, so it wasn't a bad deal at all. Almost like camping, really, except the threat of the next day loomed over him.

It was foolish, looking back, to think that everything they were about to fight would be pushed into tomorrow. So foolish.

Aaron was just about to doze off when a pine needle cracked in the campsite outside. He sat up immediately, reaching for his sword. This time it came to him without any delay. Something was wrong.

Dean and Sam were quiet over by the remains of the campfire. Nothing had been said for hours, and both appeared to be asleep, or close to it. Aaron saw Sam's head lift up and caught his gaze, thinking very hard at the other angel about what he'd heard. Sam nodded but remained where he was, looking around carefully.

A second later something flashed into being, sword in hand. It was a blur, descending rapidly towards Dean's prone form. Sam shouted and pushed his brother out of the way. The sword disappeared into his chest and Sam _screamed, _holy fire blazing as it burned the edges of the wound. Aaron thought back to the vision of hell he'd seen, thinking how eerily similar the screams were. It was all he could think about. Sam's scream had frozen him in place.

Dean awoke immediately, his sword in hand a millisecond later, blazing. The angel—it had to be an angel—readied itself, only to have its head lopped off by Dean. The Archangel shouted a triplet of words over the carcass, and something blue and wispy drew out of the corpse, hanging over it.

"_No_!" Dean yelled, pain twisting around the note, lengthening it. Aaron burst out of the car and hurried towards them, wondering how in the hell he was gonna give an angel first aid. This was bad, this was really bad…

Sam was still breathing when he got there, hands covering the stab wound weakly, blood pumping out of it. He was smiling up at Dean, but his teeth were covered in blood.

"I'm…okay." Sam breathed weakly, something rattling in his chest. "Just been…a while…since I got stabbed by one a'those."

"You _bitch_," Dean said vehemently, grabbing Sam's hands and pushing them harder onto the wound, voice desperate. "What the _hell _were you thinking, taking on someone without a weapon?"

Sam blinked slowly, and he looked so young it made Aaron's heart hurt a little in his chest. There was a lot of blood now—wasn't Sam an angel? Couldn't he heal himself? "I was saving you…jerk. She was…going for you, Dean."

Aaron looked over at the fallen head and shuddered. It was Calliel. He recognized the blonde hair, and the pantsuit still on the body. Her sword lay at her side. Calliel had tried to kill Dean.

"Shut up and stay still." Dean said to his brother fiercely, glaring at the body of Calliel and the wispy smoke that still hung over it. He gestured for Aaron to move back suddenly, lifting his hands to the sky.

Clouds formed instantly. Thunder rumbled as the edges of lightning licked the sky. With a cry Dean brought his hands down, slamming them into Sam's chest. The lightning followed his hands' path, striking directly into Sam's wound. A second later the clouds cleared, and Sam's head rolled limply in Dean's hands.

"Sam?" Dean prodded at him gently. "_Sammy_?"

Aaron felt his heart jump and looked away, unwilling to see Dean fall apart again if this didn't go through. His gaze fell on the blade Calliel had used, still laying next to her dismembered body.

"This was supposed to _work, _dammit! Angel blade or not, you're supposed to _work_! Wake up! _Wake up_!"

Now that Aaron looked at it closely, there seemed to be something shimmering on the tip. Something…green?

"There's something on the sword," He said to Dean quickly. "Something green."

Dean, in the middle of frantically pounding on Sam's chest, looked up. He could literally see the blood drain from Dean's face. "_What_?"

"There's something _green _on the sword!"

* * *

A/N The next chapter will be up on Friday. Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought! :)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Here's the next chapter! Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I'm so sorry about this. Do I have a thing for hurting Sam? Apparently. :(

* * *

Dean raised a hand up, the other still covering Sam's wound, and the sword flew straight into it. Aaron watched as the other man surveyed the weapon, touching the point with a fingertip. He immediately hissed and recoiled, dropping the sword. Sam's body didn't move, still covered in blood.

"That's…shit," Dean breathed heavily, curling in on himself. He clenched his eyes shut, hand still stubbornly trying to plug Sam's wound as he shuddered in pain. "Agh….I haven't seen that in millennia."

"What can I do? How do I help?" Aaron shouted the words, leaning forward frantically to help. Dean pushed him with a cut off scream, an invisible force throwing him backwards.

"No! Don't touch it!"

Aaron held his hands up, glancing down at Sam's chest in horror. "Why?"

"It'll kill you. It's trying to kill me right now." Dean growled out the words, still trying to move closer to Sam. His eyes flickered white, like the demon's eyes but with pure power. "It's Archangelica."

_Come again? _"That doesn't sound like it should be hurting you." _You know, considering it has the word 'archangel' in it…_

"You think?" Dean grunted at him, exasperated. Yeah, Aaron was being a little insensitive. "Listen to me—agh—you need to back up. Get about 200 feet away and don't come back, whatever you hear. I'll let you know when—shit—it's safe."

Aaron didn't wait around for him to finish that sentence. He booked it towards the trees, wondering how long it had taken for their little paradise to fall apart as it had. His sword was still blazing in his hand, and he used it to cut through all the brush in front of him.

Not thirty seconds after he'd started running something _exploded _behind him. It sent Aaron flying through the air, lifting him off his feet even as he tried to duck and roll. The light and fury of it blinded him momentarily, but he looked behind him anyways. He saw a mushroom cloud of light explode behind him, right where he'd left Dean and Sam.

_Shit. Shit shit shit—_

It took Aaron longer than he would like to admit that he was mostly deaf and talking to himself for a good ten minutes, walking in little circles. His jacket was singed at the back, and there were light burn marks around his ankles where his jeans hadn't quite covered his skin completely. He shook himself out of whatever funk he'd been in and waited for Dean's signal. No, he _prayed _for that signal.

Fifteen minutes later a faint whistle caught his attention. Aaron sprinted back to the campsite, stepping over burnt plants and trees. Everything that had been within two hundred feet of the campsite was decimated. Ash.

He found Dean exactly where he'd left him, leaning against a rock with Sam in his lap, head against his chest. He was murmuring softly to his brother, rubbing circles into his back.

"Holy…" Aaron didn't finish the sentence. They both looked like they'd been to Hell and back. Dean's face was deathly gray, but Sam looked even worse. There were two spots of pink high on his cheeks, like he had a fever. "What the hell happened?"

Dean chuckled weakly, hand still stroking Sam's hair. He leaned backwards, taking his time to answer. He looked up at the sky, speaking mostly to himself. "…I made a plea. Turns out someone was still listening."

Aaron shook his head, speechless, and walked forward to survey Sam. With a permitting nod from Dean he pulled back Sam's ripped shirt, finding no mark or wound. He looked around the campsite and shook his head, unable to even begin comprehending what had just happened. Even the metal of the dinner set was burning, though the Impala remained completely untouched.

"You said it was Archangelica." Aaron said after a moment. Sam appeared to be sleeping, so he kept his voice down. "That green stuff. What the hell did it do? I thought you guys were invincible to everything."

"Well, we're not completely invincible…" Dean trailed off as Sam shifted in his arms, adjusting so his brother was comfortable. "Archangelica is a plant. I think you guys used it to cure the bubonic plague? Anyways…it's mildly irritating to us in person. That was a concentrated version." He looked down. "They—S—they used that in the First War. It's mixed with holy oil and it's very very poisonous that way. Sam should have died. I was close."

"You only touched it," Aaron countered. A fingertip.

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't matter. That stuff was made to take out Archangels. The blade alone couldn't kill Sam, but that mixture was potent enough to finish the job. Raphael got a face full of it once…now that I think about it, he kind of deserved it…"

"_What_?" Aaron asked. Actually, he didn't want to know. "Are you guys going to be okay?"

The Archangel looked down at his little brother. "We will. Sam will sleep for a few hours, I think. I can get up…soon."

"Uh huh," Aaron said. He grabbed his sword and sat down next to the pair, watching the tree line. He somehow doubted the pair would be completely battle ready by tomorrow. "It was Calliel. The angel."

Dean sighed. "I know. I saw."

"Castiel must be having trouble, if he didn't-" Aaron didn't know how to phrase it without insulting the other angel. "There must have been more defectors than you thought."

"I had a feeling not everyone in Heaven was down with the plan," Dean said, shaking his head. "I hoped they were. But I suspected, yes. We need to plan for that, tomorrow."

Aaron glanced at his watch. "It already _is_ tomorrow."

"Smart ass," Dean coughed, reminding Aaron of the toll whatever that had been had taken. "Go to sleep.'

"Hunh," Aaron said, forcing his eyes open even wider. He gripped his sword even tighter. "Nice try."

It was going to be a long couple of hours.

* * *

Sam finally awoke around dawn, shifting in Dean's arms. The older man immediately checked his chest again, amusing Aaron. There was no mark at all, not even a scar. Sam looked up at Dean and grinned slightly, like he hadn't been near death a few hours before.

"Well...That was exciting."

Dean's face was stony. "Don't you _ever _do that to me again," he punctuated the word with a jab at Sam's chest. "_Ever_."

Sam smiled even wider, wincing. "Oh, was big brother worried about me for a second?"

"You almost _died_! Of course I was worried! It's my job-"

"Shhh," the younger angel cut him off, finally managing to sit up. His mood seemed to shift from joking to earnest in seconds, mercurial. He faced Dean like Aaron wasn't even there, drawing his brother closer with a hand on his cheek. "…I'm sorry I worried you. But I'm not sorry I saved you. I'll never be sorry about that."

Dean let out a breath, emotion plain to see in his eyes as he leaned into Sam, their foreheads touching. "I don't think I could do that again."

Sam took a sideways glance at the burned field they were sitting in. "I smelled the Archangelica before she even showed up…wow. Looks like you phoned it out this time, though. Wow…"

Aaron finally got up the nerve to speak. "What?"

"It's…" Sam stood, glancing around the campsite like he couldn't believe his eyes. He looked so young, so unsure, yet so ancient and sad in that moment. Aaron finally understood what Dean had meant about double vision. "I never thought He would still care about me, I guess."

Dean stood and clapped a hand on his brother's back. "Maybe it's a blessing, for today. Maybe that was what He intended."

Sam grinned at him, showing off an impressive pair of dimples. He turned to Aaron. "You still in this to win it?"

"As ever."

"Great," Dean agreed. "Somebody call Castiel."

"Poor bastard," Sam laughed.

* * *

Lawrence, Kansas was somewhere Aaron had passed multiple times on many trips, but never stopped in. After the first brutal years of the Apocalypse, when Lucifer still had a vessel and was wreaking havoc with it, the place had been close to decimated. Like South Dakota, the ground was mostly rust and burnt ash. Unlike South Dakota, something biblical was about to take place there.

Aaron thought it was a little crazy that he was sitting in the same car as the Devil as they traveled around the land he'd wrecked, not all that long ago. Sam, for his part, looked equal parts guilty and furious as they traveled through mile after mile of scorched earth. Dean looked similarly upset, though Aaron couldn't put his finger on why.

Castiel had reported early that morning, while Sam and Dean were still preparing for battle. He brought the same news they were expecting; most of the angels would stay with Dean, but many had defected. He was in the process of going through the forces now, and pinpointing any angel who might be in danger of defecting or selling secrets. The process would take a long time, Castiel explained. They also weren't sure about getting vetted forces to Lawrence in time. The sinking feeling in Aaron's stomach just got worse. They were walking into a bigger unknown than they had originally thought, and that was saying something.

The Impala wasn't needed to travel, not really, but the two angels wanted to conserve energy for battle, and they weren't too far away. Apparently Sam had taken them somewhere near Nebraska, and with Dean's powers conflicting the two had accidentally sent them somewhere spiraling near Utah. "Close enough," Dean had laughed when Sam explained this to Aaron, clapping his brother on the back. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He was happy, Aaron could see, to have his brother back—but also to have a friend, it seemed.

Lawrence, Kansas, was in their sights within four hours. Though they were powering down to conserve energy, the Impala still seemed to respond to the pair like it had before. Every time Dean took his hand off the wheel to tease Sam or hit his brother, the car kept on gliding forward. About halfway through the engine started rattling, much to Dean's consternation. Aaron could relate. He didn't want to go to Lawrence, either.

An old boneyard outside of the city limits was still mostly intact. Dean drove them there like he'd visited a thousand times.

Belial was standing with a large group of people in the cemetery, casually waiting for them. Crows flew around the headstones, and if that wasn't an ominous sign, Aaron didn't know what was.

"Belial," Sam said once they were out of the car, straightening to his full height. His playful humor remained, but the features of his face sharpened. His presence took on a tone that made Aaron recoil briefly.

An aura of light surrounded him, much like it had Dean when the Archangel had strode into battle. Dean, speak of the devil, joined him a second later, a similar unearthliness haloing his features. Sam continued. "It's lovely to see you again. And hanging out with all the cousins! It must be so wonderful to catch up."

Belial looked back at the various angels standing in his entourage and shrugged. The angels cringed noticeably as Dean stared them down, unforgiving. "Samael. It seems like you've been doing some catching up of your own. Traitor."

He spit into the grass. Sam just chuckled, though Aaron could feel it reverberate in the grounds, waking something far beneath their feet. Aaron could feel the twitching and scratching of hands under his boots and shuddered. He didn't want to go up against the devil in battle any day, regardless of the side he was on. Dean cracked his neck, looking more and more like Michael by the minute. Aaron found it hard to believe he'd ever considered these two as human. He saw Sam and Dean, still wearing day-old flannel, but his soul shivered at the invisible interplay of power around him.

"Belial. I think you'd be the last one to cast that stone," Michael pointed out, leaning casually against his sword. It burned into the dry earth with a menacing hiss. "Especially considering you've been stealing from another man's flock."

The angels shifted guiltily again as Michael's gaze found them. One blonde angel in the back actually let out a pained gasp, refusing to look at his former commander. Aaron saw Dean's wicked smile as the Archangel spotted the angel and felt some pity for the seraph. He knew, as did anyone who'd read the bible, how Michael dealt with traitors.

"I don't care about being labelled a hypocrite. I care about getting this damn apocalypse where it needs to be." Belial growled, eyes only on Sam. "Samael, even you can understand that this must happen. You must fight Michael. There is no other way. It was prophesized. You said this yourself; why change your mind now?"

"Burgeoning humanity?" Samael ventured sarcastically. He didn't have a weapon like Michael, but the power radiating off him told Aaron he probably didn't need one. He could probably talk Belial out of the whole thing with that silver tongue if he tried. "A mild dislike for spilling familial blood?"

"You had no qualm doing that in the First War." Belial challenged.

Sam chuckled. "Ah, but that was before. Now we have a chance to resolve things; to put demons and angels in their respective places. Tell me you don't long for some sort of organization."

Belial twisted his face into a scowl. "Hell doesn't need _organization. _You speak in golden untruths, Samael."

"Golden? Heh," Michael huffed out a laugh, interrupting. He looked at Sam. "Tell me why you kept speaking so archaically with them. It sounds ridiculous."

"Your face is ridiculous," Sam muttered in true little-brother fashion. He coughed. "My brother makes a good point. Are we going to stand around here all day talking like ridiculous old men, or are we going to fight?"

Belial looked at Sam like he'd grown three heads. "What has _happened _to you?"

"Exactly what needed to, brother." Sam said. He reached a hand behind his back and pulled a golden sword from an invisible sheath. Aaron's breath left his chest as he saw the blade. It was sharp and deadly but beautiful somehow, elegant enough to rival Michael's…and possibly even a little bigger. Aaron chuckled at the millennia-long joke that could be made there, and wondered if Sam had ever taunted his brother with it before. White clothing replaced the flannel and jeans, looking so at home on the Archangel that Aaron didn't even notice the chance at first.

"To my brothers and sisters on both sides of today's conflict; I give you one warning to flee and seek redemption, or else face the consequences."

Michael nodded along with his brother, hefting his sword to a defensive position. He let Samael take point and took an uncharacteristic back-seat to the offensive. Aaron grabbed his little pig-sticker and prayed it would be enough. He already felt stories shorter than the two Archangels in front of him, though they hadn't grown visibly. Belial looked murderous across the boneyard, but he had a smug curve to his lips that chilled Aaron to the bone. Nevertheless, he backed Sam and Dean up.

None of the angels heeded Sam's warning, nor did any of the demons. Aaron saw a few strategically-placed zombies in the back and nodded to himself. Angels and Demons were strange territory; Zombies he knew, and he knew them well. Thunder cracked above their heads, and before he realized it, Aaron was running alongside the pair, charging the group of demons and enemy angels. Sam's sword struck Belial's and lightning flashed above, heralding the beginning of their battle.

Suddenly there were bodies everywhere. Noise surrounded Aaron like a blanket, and he soon lost sight of Sam and Dean. Out of the corner of his eye he saw flashes of gold and silver; Samael and Michael's respective blades cutting through demons and angels. Occasionally an angel would light up, releasing grace into the sky. Aaron fought and spun and twisted; he carved through flesh and grace like he'd been made for it, dancing through the corpses like he had at Dean's side the last time. This time he had two Archangels backing him up. Maybe, he thought furtively, they would win this time. Maybe they could win after all.

Belial let out a cry of fury as the last angel on his side was annihilated by Sam's sword. Sam looked golden, leaking the indefinable color from every pore. Dean was a growling presence at his back, fighting off a horde of demons off so his brother could take on Belial. The two circled each other, both of them baring teeth at the other.

Samael gestured with a hand and the demon went flying, pinned to the ground dozens of feet away. He struggled against the hold but it was in vain. Samael walked the remaining distance between them, looking regal as his noble features caught the lightning from above. Aaron spun and sliced into another demon, praying he could keep watching. Something was going to happen…but what?

Michael was watching as well, mindlessly cutting through the groups of demons surrounding him. They came at the Archangel with blades that broke before they even touched his sword. Aaron felt a small moment of sympathy for the vessels as the warrior cut into them. There weren't going to be a lot of bodies left to bury, only pieces. The human part of Aaron felt revulsion at that; the part that was dancing along with the sword reveled in it.

He caught flashes of Samael's face, leaning over Belial, and mentally urged the angel to get on with it. He couldn't drag this out, or Belial would retaliate, and they would all suffer the consequences.

Aaron found a demon charging him and feinted left, jabbing out with his blade as the demon ran into his shoulder. He threw them both to the ground, digging it into the demon's sternum all the way to the hilt. With a curse he pulled the blade free, looking up to see Sam's face, cracked with sympathy. Belial was feet away now, and Aaron could hear what they were saying clear as day.

"-fell for you," Belial was saying, looking up at Sam with pure loathing, desperation cutting his words. "You led me astray. You took Heaven's light from us forever, _lightbringer_-_"_

"I know," Samael said, painfully thick, cutting off the angel. Aaron could see tears in his eyes and knew, then and there, that Lucifer had changed. He didn't deserve the name anymore. "I know, Belial." He looked down, catching Belial's wrist, almost parental in his fondness. "You were a beautiful angel. And I…took that from you."

"You will pay," Belial hissed. Sam stood solemnly and lifted his sword, ready for the killing blow. Aaron saw Belial's hand shift, the same one Sam had carelessly touched a second ago, and leapt forward, shouting at Sam-

The demon threw something into Sam's eyes and the Archangel screamed, a sound Aaron had wished yesterday he wouldn't have to hear again. Sam toppled backwards, falling to his knees, hands over his eyes. Aaron heard Michael let out a cry, dozens of feet away. The demons around him fell instantly in his anger, vaporized as he tried to run to his brother.

Aaron felt rather than saw the demon he was fighting collapse, too busy staring at Sam. Everything was moving in slow motion. Michael's face was frozen in horror, white as a sheet as he sprinted towards his brother. Aaron saw a flash of lightning throw up a shadow football fields long onto the clouds above them, and realized distantly that they looked like wings. Wings…

Belial was felled with a single blow, Michael's heavenly sword taking his head off without pause. Michael fell to his knees next to his brother, sword clattering to the ground. He grabbed Sam's face in both of his hands, only to have his brother twist away from him.

Sam moaned. "No. No-"

"Let me _see-_"

"Get _away_!" Sam screamed, his voice splitting into the one Aaron had heard the angels use without vessels, a high pitched tone, too painful for his ears. He broke into Enochian, mumbling nonsensically, "_Bams_ _niiso_, Mika'el. Oiad. Listen, Dean, you need to-_Olani_ _hoath_ _ol_." He grabbed his head, hunching over in pain as a wave of whatever it was came over him. He stumbled into Enochian again. "_Please, _Bams niiso, you don't understand, bams niiso, oiad-"

Michael refused, shaking his head silently. He looked up to the sky but Aaron knew, deep down somehow, that no help was coming this time. Sam shuddered again and this time Michael was thrown backwards as he screamed, sending the Archangel soaring almost two hundred feet away. Aaron looked down just in time to see his feet leave the ground. They both hit the ground with a thump. Sam continued to groan in Enochian, holding his face. A moment later everything went silent, save the thudding of Aaron's heart.

Aaron looked up, as did Dean. Sam was in a crumpled heap against one of the headstones. Blood dripped down his face, running like scars from his eyes. He was breathing faintly, and Aaron sighed in relief as he saw the Archangel's chest moving.

"Stay there," Michael growled at him, moving quicker than Aaron could see. He was at Sam's side in seconds, reaching for his brother's chest. A hand flew up, catching his wrist lightning-quick. Sam's eyes flew open, and Aaron felt his heart stop. Michael actually took a quivering step back, only to back up even further as Lucifer stood.

Blood ran freely down the light bringer's face, leaking from his eye sockets. What had once been a beautiful pair of hazel eyes had been burned away, leaving nothing but threads of flesh, singed and bubbling at the edges of each socket. It looked horrific. It was the worst thing Aaron had ever seen, and he couldn't look away.

"Sam…" Michael choked out, repulsed. He took a step back as Sam took a step forward, tilting his head. "_Samael_…"

"What? You don't think I look pretty like this?" It was Sam's sly smile, Sam's joking tone, but the words didn't seem to be his. He gave his sword a little spin, looking down at it, grotesquely sightless. "It's funny. I've been waiting for this for a long, long time."

"Waiting…waiting for what?" Michael whispered. His sword was in his hand, but it seemed the last thing on his mind was defending himself.

Sam shrugged fluidly, uncaring. "To fight you. To end this."

"You don't mean that." Michael said quickly, face losing even more color. "Sam, we talked about this. You don't want this anymore. We work together, brother."

Sam tilted his head again, smirking slightly. "See, there you go with that tone again. Telling me what I want to do. Ordering me around. Always the faithful son, weren't you? Listening to _Him _without a care for what _I _really wanted. _Never again!_"

His voice grew with each word, until he was shouting at his brother. Michael took a horrified step backwards as Samael charged forward, a cry ripped from his lips.

Metal met metal and Aaron, suddenly, blessedly, was thrown into unconsciousness.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be up soon! Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought!:)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N** Second to last chapter here! I guess I should have put a warning for gore on the last chapter...I apologize. Mild gore below.

* * *

**_Before_**

_Aaron looked up, as did Dean. Sam was in a crumpled heap against one of the headstones. Blood dripped down his face, running like scars from his eyes. He was breathing faintly, and Aaron sighed in relief as he saw the Archangel's chest moving._

_"Stay there," Michael growled at him, moving quicker than Aaron could see. He was at Sam's side in seconds, reaching for his brother's chest. A hand flew up, catching his wrist lightning-quick. Sam's eyes flew open, and Aaron felt his heart stop. Michael actually took a quivering step back, only to back up even further as Lucifer stood._

_Blood ran freely down the light bringer's face, leaking from his eye sockets. What had once been a beautiful pair of hazel eyes had been burned away, leaving nothing but threads of flesh, singed and bubbling at the edges of each socket. It looked horrific. It was the worst thing Aaron had ever seen, and he couldn't look away._

_"Sam…" Michael choked out, repulsed. He took a step back as Sam took a step forward, tilting his head. "__Samael__…__"_

_"What? You don't think I look pretty like this?" It was Sam's sly smile, Sam's joking tone, but the words didn't seem to be his. He gave his sword a little spin, looking down at it, grotesquely sightless. "It's funny. I've been waiting for this for a long, long time."_

_"Waiting…waiting for what?" Michael whispered. His sword was in his hand, but it seemed the last thing on his mind was defending himself._

_Sam shrugged fluidly, uncaring. "To fight you. To end this."_

_"You don't mean that." Michael said quickly, face losing even more color. "Sam, we talked about this. You don't want this anymore. We work together, brother."_

_Sam tilted his head again, smirking slightly. "See, there you go with that tone again. Telling me what I want to do. Ordering me around. Always the faithful son, weren't you? Listening to __Him __without a care for what __I __really wanted. __Never again!__"_

_His voice grew with each word, until he was shouting at his brother. Michael took a horrified step backwards as Samael charged forward, a cry ripped from his lips._

_Metal met metal and Aaron, suddenly, blessedly, was thrown into unconsciousness._

* * *

**_Now_**

Aaron blinked open slowly and got on his knees before his vision had even cleared. All around him he heard thunder, rolling across the graveyard, between the headstones. He looked up and saw clouds whirling, lightning crackling at their edges. A thousand paces away Samael and Michael were fighting viciously, each clash of their blades another crack of deafening thunder and lightning across the sky.

"…Stop!" He could hear Michael's voice over the roaring wind and struggled to his feet, limping towards the pair. "Samael, _stop_! Brother!"

Samael ignored his pleas, striking Michael's sword again and again, gold ringing against silver. Michael seemed to make no offensive of his own, only blocking his brother's swings. With every blow Samael pushed closer to the other Archangel, and Aaron could see the older angel's arms shivering under the weight of each attack. Michael wasn't going to survive if he kept on the defensive, but there was no way in heaven or hell he would ever attack his brother—even Aaron knew that.

"Stop!" He screamed out uselessly, sprinting towards the pair with his sword in hand. "Sam, stop! That's your _brother_! Your brother!"

Samael waved a hand and Michael catapulted backwards two hundred feet, landing dangerously close to his sword. The wind continued to roar around him as he turned to Aaron, smiling, tossing his hair around his face. Aaron got the sudden impression of being a tiny, tiny fish in front of a large shark. Like Samael couldn't care less for him, as if his mere presence were a fleeting moment in time.

"Oh, look. Your protégé." Samael turned to Michael, who still lay in the grass. "I have to say, you're choosing them a little old now, _brother."_

Michael's face was pale. Aaron could see blood at his neck, though he wasn't bleeding profusely. "He carries the sword. You know the old rules."

"Sure." Samael said good-naturedly, turning back to Aaron. He smirked, and the expression looked both at home on his face and horrifyingly alien. Gone was the Sam who'd spoken so honestly and earnestly, who'd looked younger than his years. "But can he carry it without all your little cheap modifications?"

Aaron bit down on a scream as excruciating pain shot through his right arm, falling to his knees. For a second he couldn't even process what was happening, the pain was so intense. He couldn't process it coming from Sam, not when they'd grown so close—but-

It was like losing the limb all over again, except this time he wasn't already delirious with pain. He looked down in horror and saw a bloody stump where he'd had a hand before. Even before, he hadn't seen the limb like this—Dean had healed it, to some extent—and it was horrifying. He swallowed bile and saw his sword in the grass, streaked with bright red blood.

Samael chuckled above him, the sound slithering into his ears, low and beautiful.

"Come on, warrior. Tis only a flesh wound." The Archangel coaxed, chuckling from far-off. He felt a kick at his ribs, but it didn't rival the pain in his hand. "Stand up and _fight_."

Aaron could only stare at his hand, feeling his body loosen in shock. Michael groaned and rose to his knees a dozen feet away from him, leaning heavily on his sword. Lightning crackled above him, the shadows making the Archangel look haggard.

"…I can't believe you just made a Monty Python reference," Michael shook his head, either in pain or disbelief. Samael faced him again, still smirking. He looked grotesquely beautiful in his white clothing, marred only by the gore and blood strewn across it.

"Well. Where were we?"

Michael looked pained, Dean's anguish on his face. He put out a hand. "Samael, please-"

"Hm. No." Samael swung at his brother again and almost hit the Archangel's chest, blocked only at the last second by Michael's sword. Michael pushed his brother back with tremendous effort, throwing all of his weight against where their swords met. Samael skidded back a few feet, unfazed.

He glanced sightlessly at Aaron and gestured strangely with one hand. The ground began to creak and shake beneath Aaron, prodding his already rolling stomach. Aaron felt a shiver of fear as he felt something _move _under his body, crawling in the dirt.

"Something to keep you busy." Samael gave him a blind, gleaming smile before attacking Michael again, a shockwave of power ringing out as their blades connected.

Aaron fell as the grass broke beneath his feet, his wrist jarring against the ground. White-hot pain shot through him, and before he could stop himself he emptied his stomach onto the ground next to him, choking on stomach acid as the liquid boiled up. He saw a hand break through the sod next to him, clawing through the dirt with razor-sharp fingernails. A second later another hand appeared two paces away, then another. Another.

Slowly but surely bodies began to dig themselves out of the graves, covered in rotting flesh and dirt. Aaron choked again and stumbled to his knees, pushing against unimaginable pain. He glanced down at his wrist and shuddered. _Think, think. Emergency medicine...something, anything…_

He could make a…_tourniquet? _Is that what they called it? Aaron steadied himself as the ground shook even more, spotting Michael and Samael in the distance. He looked down, eyes fixing on his belt. After a good twenty seconds of staring he grabbed at it with his left hand, blood still pumping furiously from his wrist. It took a few tries but he managed to pull it free. With a bit-off scream of pain he wrapped it loosely around his bloody stump, and, in the hardest moment of his life, he pulled it as tight as it could go.

His vision whited out. Aaron was sure he was screaming, but the sound was lost in the fervor of battle surrounding him. The earth heaved beneath his feet. His vision cleared and he was on his knees, his sword ten feet to his right. All around him the animated bodies were stumbling towards him. And, God, it _hurt. _

_Think. _They didn't seem to be anything like the zombies Aaron had spent decades fighting. They had no thought process, not like the albeit limited one most zombies had. They seemed to move in Aaron's direction, scenting blood, only at Samael's direction. Which meant he could, theoretically, call them off…

Aaron mustered enough strength to shuffle across the broken ground and grab the hilt of his sword. It felt strange and unfamiliar in his left hand, but the second he touched the blessed metal a wave of calm overcame him. He stood, spotting Michael in the distance, locked in fierce battle, and bent his head.

The first undead being to cross into his space found its head rolling on the ground a second later. Aaron beamed as the sword swung easily in his hand, only to be faced with the sight of the headless body still careening towards him. With a curse he threw himself out of the way, stabbing at the carcass' center. His sword went through with a disgusting _squelch, and when he_ pulled it out a trail of mucus-looking fluid covered the metal.

Aaron kicked the body onto the ground and watched it twitch. A second later it grabbed for him again, diseased flesh clawing at his ankle. Aaron felt a fission of fear at the prospect that it just might _not _die. At all.

He sliced down, spinning to catch the crowd of gathered undead as they converged on him. Limbs fell and slashed throats spat more of the disgusting mucus out, but the bodies refused to yield. Even the completely dismembered, limbless corpses twitched towards him. Aaron looked towards Michael and knew the other angel couldn't help him, watching the angel take a hard hit across the face and knowing, somehow, their chances today were fading quickly.

"Aaron!"

Aaron nearly took off the speaker's head, recognizing him only after a second attempt to dismember him. "C-Castiel."

The angel had a sword in each hand, the silvery trademark angel metal gleaming. A dozen or so angels were behind him, already taking on the animated dead with gusto. The angel didn't appear to take offense at Aaron's attack, blue eyes solemn. "It seems you are in need of assistance."

"Fucking—understatement!" Aaron chopped off the limbs of another body, if only to slow it down. It rolled on the ground, clawing for his knees, and he put a sword through its hands. "How the hell do we _kill _them?"

Castiel ducked as Aaron swung over his head, taking out a body that was getting dangerously close to the seraph. "I don't know." He shouted back.

"You don't _know_?" Aaron was a) about to die from serious blood loss, b) fighting shit that shouldn't have existed in the first place and c) watching two of the most honest, admirable men he'd ever seen fight to the death. "You don't _know_?"

"You need Michael or Samael to kill them," Castiel said quickly, stabbing into the chest of another corpse, elbow deep in mucus. "Otherwise we can only hold them off. They're cursed with something old, something older than any of us."

Aaron spotted the pair off in the distance, Michael now hunching over a wound in his chest, and made the hardest decision of his life.

"Hold them off," He instructed Castiel, pointing at the hundreds of corpses remaining. "I'll get Michael."

"Aaron-"

Aaron closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with a smile. An uncharacteristic wave of peace came over him, and the world slowed down around him. "Trust me, Castiel."

Castiel stared at him, obviously alarmed, but nodded. Aaron hefted his sword for what was quite possibly the last time, and went to find Sam and Dean.

* * *

Michael knew things were bad. He could feel the grace leaking from his chest, somewhere down and to the left where Samael had caught him minutes before. The feeling of his brother's blade piercing his flesh was tempered only by the anguish he felt seeing his brother's sightless eyes. The tattered flesh still hanging around the sockets was something Michael couldn't bear to look at. On and on Samael spoke, of past wrongs and angers, but it was all a blur to the archangel.

He missed the younger brother with a kaleidoscope of colors in his eyes. The most beautiful pair he'd ever known, paired with the most inexplicably alluring wings heaven had ever seen. This bloody, bitter shell was all of Samael's hate and none of his love. A beautiful shell, but a shell nonetheless.

He caught another swing on the edge of his sword, stumbling as Samael's face swung closer towards him. He hadn't been this close to the Archangel in battle since the First War. Back then, he had been just as reluctant not to draw blood. Now he was even more determined, now that he'd seen the future the two of them could forge together. Samael had wanted that, never mind Belial's trickery.

"…Samael..." He said weakly, unwilling or unable to muster the strength to push his brother back. Samael ignored him. "Sam…"

"Don't call me that," something in the other angel's face twitched. "I don't answer to mortal names."

"I'll call you…whatever the hell I want," Michael reared back, just fast enough to block another lightning-quick jab. He winced as more grace trickled from his side, breaths labored. "You k-know why? 'Cause I'm your big brother…_bitch_."

Samael smirked, but his face had paled slightly. "And you've never stopped lording that over me, have you?"

"No, you listen to _me_," Michael found renowned strength in his voice, if nothing else. He attacked Samael now, swinging his sword with numb arms, feeling the metal deaden in his hands. "I _know _you. I know this isn't what you want. It isn't what you wanted the first time, and we all paid a price because of it. Belial may have fucked with your head, but you are _stronger than him. _You are so strong, brother."

"Strong enough to wound the mighty Michael," Samael said starkly, but something in his posture, in the curve of his mouth, begged to differ. "Strong enough to be above the humans, as we should be."

"No! Strong enough to love them. As you always have…" Michael brought his sword down hard, threading lightning through it. Samael stumbled backwards, stunned at the power. His sword fell to the ground, rolling football fields away, a flash of gold in the barren field. "You always loved too much. Too freely. And I never noticed. You were so easily hurt and…back then, I couldn't see."

Samael took a step back, defenseless. Something flickered in his expression, and he wavered slightly where he stood. "…I don't want apologies."

"That's the spell talking," Michael pleaded, though he kept a firm grip on his sword. "Sam…"

Samael went silent, shivering suddenly. He turned in a way that would have put them eye to eye, hands down at his side. A tear ran from his mutilated eyes, shot through with blood and grace. Then he _moved_.

For a second, he thought he'd gotten through. Michael raised his sword as his brother vaulted forward, ready to defend yet again. They grappled for his sword, and Michael gasped as he felt Samael's hands find his. Something, grace, anger, emotion, poured through him. He felt a blow to his chest and suddenly Samael was two paces away, his sword in hand. This was it. They were going to lose, and Belial, however dead he was, had won.

Michael reached out, mouth open, just in time to see Samael's sightless eyes make contact with him. With a sad smile, the younger archangel lifted his blade up and

ran himself through with it.

Grace exploded from his eyes, his mouth, and he was staring at Michael the entire time. A small smirk curved his lips, Samael's tricky smile. _That damn fox_. He must have been planning this all along, ever since that damned demon had taken his eyes-

"_Nooooooooo!_"

He caught Sam as he fell, moving in slow motion, clawing through the suddenly dense air to hold his brother. He ran his hands over the wound, at the perfect epicenter of his chest and tried to hush Sam at the same time, tried to look somewhere, to someone, for help, tried to hold his brother's soul in, even as it leaked out between his fingers…

He tried to do everything at once and found he could do nothing, so he held his brother in his arms. Damn him. _Oh_, _Sam_…

Sam was gasping in pain, little hushed breaths, heart rabbiting under Michael's hand. Grace was flowing out of every vein in his body, leaking into the dirt. He looked young and…spent. Any second now the grace would ignite completely and finish what he'd started, but all Michael could see was his little brother, _so_ _young_, he thought_ so_ _young_…

Michael leaned low over his brother and keened, praying for each second that passed. The sounds of battle had quieted around him but he couldn't spare a thought for Aaron or the other angels. When your soul cracked in half, you didn't care about what others were doing. Michael didn't. He was already planning revenge on the final demons, vowing to destroy Belial's name in any way possible.

"M-Michael…" It took him several tries to hear what Samael was saying, pushing their foreheads together, ignoring the gaping holes in his baby brother's face. He spoke in Enochian, haltingly, a scratchy whisper.

"Yes. I'm here." _You did it. _He felt Samael's bloody hands run across his face, mapping his features blindly. He stumbled into their mother tongue, realizing they'd spoken English for their entire fight. "W-what is it?"

"_I…_I want to see them."

"See what?" the words were torn from his throat, barely above a whisper. Samael smiled, blind, and tapped the bone above his eyes. Michael shuddered as the sound echoed and closed his brother's sight with his hands, knowing in that moment exactly what he wanted.

A low glow grew in his cupped palms. A moment later Samael's beautiful hazel eyes were watching him, full of pain. Michael bit back a sob and gathered his brother even closer to him, moving a mindless hand across the sky. The sunset flowed into darkness, and suddenly all they could see were stars.

Samael sighed next to him, at peace. His eyes reflected the nebulas upon nebulas above them, caught in wonder. Michael bit off a sob and laid next to his brother, stargazing, cupping his brother's head in his hands. He saw the star their Father had named Samael after; beautiful, and visible only to the angels. He saw Orion and Cassiopeia, and he saw Noctua and Phaethon and a thousand other constellations. He saw the sun off in the distance.

A second later Sam's hand tightened on his wrist, and, with a flare of grace, he was gone.

* * *

**A/N** I will post the epilogue tomorrow. Leave a review, and let me know what you thought!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N **Here's the epilogue! Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I hope some ends are tied up below.

* * *

**Epilogue**

The instant Aaron saw Samael with Michael's sword, he knew, somehow, what would happen. Samael no longer had eyes, but his smile told a story that was painfully easy to understand. The moment the blade entered his body every undead creature in the boneyard collapsed.

The angels far behind him broke into yells of triumph, only to be deafened by the terrible scream Michael let out a second later.

"_Nooooooooo!_"

Aaron was still hundreds of feet away but stopped, unable to intrude. Michael cradled Samael in his arms, whispering, their heads touching. Blood and grace ran from Samael's wound, pouring into the dirt. Aaron looked away after a moment, tears running freely from his face.

The gathered angels were kneeling, and there were hundreds of them now. Castiel knelt at the front, sword in his right hand, his left twisted across his chest in a gesture of respect. The angels mirrored him, heads bowed.

It was dead silent, save for Michael's whispers, the horror and absolute finality of the moment echoing across the field.

That same feeling of peace washed over Aaron again, and he rebelled against it instantly. Why feel at peace when the best man he'd ever known, one of the strongest angels, had just ended his own life to save all of them? _No, _he thought viciously, _I'll never come to terms with this, never—_

A voice whispered to him, and the feeling of light and peace deepened. Aaron felt his gaze go out of focus and knelt robotically.

…_Really? _He asked the voice. _You can do that? _

A pause, as he listened.

"_Yes," _he said.

* * *

Michael held Samael's body for a long time, healing the various scratches and bruises that still covered his brother's body. The eyes had been the worst to look upon before, but now Michael avoided the hole in the angel's sternum. He healed it with a shaking hand, passing over the blood and grace unseeingly.

Grief poured through every vein in his body. It threatened to overtake him at times, and he had to halt the healing process. Tear at his hair, his skin, hold his head in anguish. _No, no, no- _he wanted to scream. _This wasn't supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. _

Samael looked at peace when he finished, his clothing immaculate, his hair brushed back from his face. If not for the grace and blood surrounding his body, he could be asleep. Michael looked down and saw Sam Winchester, saw Samael, saw Lucifer, and didn't care. He'd take any of them back, if he could.

"Michael,"

He turned and found Aaron behind him, a hand out. He was about to turn and dismiss the mortal (what did _he_ know of grief?) when something caught his eye. He focused his senses on Aaron's soul and blinked. No, it couldn't be—

"Father?"

Aaron smiled, and Michael saw the man for what he truly was. The archangel knelt instantly, bowed protectively over his brother's body, unwilling to put and distance between them. Samael's wings burned the ground around them, spanning out of sight in either direction, enormous.

"I am glad you found your brother, and that you worked together."

Michael felt his features twist, and couldn't stop himself from speaking, bitter. "I am not."

God moved closer, ignoring Michael's defensive glare, and sat down next to Samael. He ran a hand through his hair, expression fond. "I am. I've never seen anything like the two of you. I suppose I won't ever again."

"Samael wouldn't be dead now if we'd stayed apart." Michael hissed, not remembering the last time he'd spoken to his Father like this and not, frankly, caring in the least. "But because of your plans, he suffers. I suffer."

God appraised him carefully. "You won't suffer forever."

"No, I will not," Michael agreed, baring his teeth. He held a hand out and his sword flew into it. "I'll rid this earth of demons and I'll follow my brother into the stars. Just try and stop me."

His Father smiled. "If only Samael could see this type of devotion now,"

"If only you could stop playing _games_!" Michael said viciously, mad with sudden grief. He pointed his sword at God, and, _oh, _it was still covered in Samael's blood. "Leave! I don't want your pretty reassurances or riddles! I want my brother back!"

God looked him up and down carefully and stood. He ignored the sword pointed at his heart and kissed Samael's forehead gently, a hand lingering in the younger archangel's hair. Michael growled wordlessly and his Father acquiesced, backing off. He stared at Michael for a moment, pensive.

"What?" Michael asked after a moment of silence, unable to bear the silence any longer. "_What_?"

"Good luck," God said simply, smiling, as he always did, like he knew something Michael didn't. His eyes flashed pure white and Aaron dropped like the empty vessel he was, collapsing to the ground. Michael covered his eyes as the flash of power overtook the graveyard, hissing in pain.

He looked over his Father's vessel briefly, adjusting his rest with his powers so Aaron wouldn't wake in pain. God had healed his injured hand, and this time Michael could see the blessing in the limb, instead of his own intricate spell work. Samael wouldn't be able to take it—well. It wouldn't be a gift easily rescinded, as it had been before.

Michael turned back to his brother's corpse, ready to take it to its final resting place. He would cremate his brother, and scatter the ashes into the sky. It would be the most beautiful constellation of all. The largest, too.

When he completed his turn he had to blink, then shake his head, faced with an empty plot of ground. Even Samael's blood and grace was gone, completely vanished. Michael felt every nerve in his body tingle and turned on the gathered angels below, wings held high in accusation.

"Who-"

* * *

Aaron watched Michael fumble with his words, face losing all of its color, but he already knew what had happened. G—_He—_had done something to Samael, in lieu of Michael's tribute. It wasn't every day Heaven lost an Archangel, and he knew it would throw everything out of balance. With Samael gone, Michael would be a violent half of an incomplete whole. Better yet, the world would be lacking a beautiful soul.

Samael stood across the field, eyes locked with Michael. For a while the older archangel's mouth worked silently, struggling to form words.

Samael looked at least a decade younger, dressed in startling white, his hair tossed playfully across his face. He smiled at his brother, flashing a pair of dimples, and Aaron could actually see Michael's knees tremble from where he lay.

Within a second Michael's blade was clattering to the ground, and the Archangel had teleported across the field. Samael nearly fell over as Michael embraced him, teetering dangerously far backwards with the strength of his hug.

Aaron ran down the hill they were standing on, straining to catch sight or sound of the pair. When he arrived, out of breath, the two were still locked in a fierce embrace.

"Never, _never _do that to me again," Michael was saying, mirroring his words from the previous night almost perfectly. He hit his brother on the shoulder, then pulled his head in under his chin, height difference be damned. "God, you little shit. I should kill you."

"Sorry," Sam said, smiling broadly, dimples in full display. "Looks like I don't stay dead for long."

"Damn straight." Dean said, more than Michael. He kept his brother in a light headlock and turned to the gathered angels. He opened his mouth, only to falter as he spotted Aaron. A knowing look passed across his features, and the archangel glanced skywards briefly.

"…Thank you." Dean said, head dipping. He looked at Aaron and a voice inside his head said the same thing, an echoed chorus of Michael's voice, ephemeral and distant. He heard it again in Sam's voice, a slightly different intonation, and then in Enochian. _Elasa bolape ascha, Aaron Walker. Thank you. _

Castiel stood, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder in thanks. The Archangel grinned and pulled the seraph into a hug, a hand on Dean's arm at all times.

"Walker…" Dean said out loud, musing on the name. He looked Aaron up and down, a frown on his face. "No, it has to be a coincidence…Sam."

Sam turned to look at what Dean was pointing at, a frown soon joining the one on his brother's face. Castiel looked similarly confused. "Walker…as in? No. _Nooo._" Sam said, laughing. Aaron got the impression he was missing something important.

"What?" He asked, completely blindsided by their laughter. They looked so human, free of grief, that he almost wanted to just let them keep laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Are you related to a guy named Gordon in any way?" Dean asked. "A Gordon Walker?

Aaron thought quickly. "I think there was a great-uncle Gordon, on my mom's side. But he was estranged. Does that help—wait, why are you laughing?"

"No reason," Sam said quickly, smacking his brother on the leg. They were both chuckling, faces pink. "No reason at all. It seems…_things…_work in mysterious ways. I would even go so far to call them ironic."

"Your face is ironic," Dean retorted, earning another smack from his brother. He pouted. "I can't believe he de-aged you ten years. You look like you'd get carded any second. I can't go out with a brother who's gonna get me arrested for drinking a Miller."

"Shut up," Sam said, closing his eyes and focusing. The youthful appearance from _His _blessing remained, but his features aged slightly, until the Sam he'd come to know stood in front of him. "Better?"

"_I didn't even notice_," Dean whispered in the older dialect of Enochian, one Aaron suddenly knew he and the other angels shouldn't understand. Perhaps being a vessel had changed that for him, at the least, seeing as Castiel and the other angels seemed not to have heard. "_You could have come back wearing a tutu, for all I care."_

"_And Father did this?_" Sam questioned, looking to his brother. He still looked so young, hazel eyes wide under his messy hair. "_Why?"_

_"__Because I asked. I think." _Dean's face hardened, reflecting Michael's earlier grief. "_He took Aaron as a vessel. Who'd have thought?" _

_"__I knew," _Sam smirked, those devilish dimples peeking out again. Aaron found himself grinning along, even though he was miles away from being part of the conversation. "_He fought with Heaven's swords, and managed not to die while doing it? Questionable, for most humans. Besides, there was always something…good, inside of him._"

"Now you're just being sentimental," Dean said in English, clearly enunciating so the rest of the angels could hear. He turned to Aaron, a broad, proud smile on his face. "Where's the nearest alcohol, huh? I think we've well and earned the right to get wasted. What do you say, Sam?"

Sam wrinkled his nose. "As long as it isn't those ancient wine barrels you had us drink that one time. Terrible idea." He looked Aaron straight in the eyes, like a wary parent. "Don't take _any _alcohol from him unless I check it first, okay?"

"_Saaaamm…_" Dean whined, getting a playful smack and a begrudging smile from his brother. "Just the fact that you're—_suggesting _that I would give Aaron illicit substances offends me-"

Aaron let himself get squashed into a hug from the defensive archangel, smiling the whole time even though he pretended to be offended.

High above them a single bird circled the graveyard. Aaron sighed, relaxing against the archangels.

_April 1__st__, 2067. Day One of the New World. _

_The Apocalypse ends._

* * *

**A/N **I'm a stickler for happy endings, it appears. Thanks so much for all the reviews and favorites along the way, guys. This has been awesome.

**A/N2: **Now has a sequel! "Bless the Broken Road" Hope you guys will go and try it out, but it can also be read alone.


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